4 


BROTHER  AND  SISTER 


BROTHER  AND   SISTER 

A  Memoir  and  the  Letters 

OF 

ERNEST  AND  HENRIETTE  RENAN 


TRANSLATED  BY 

LADY    MARY    LOYD 


gorfc 
MACMILLAN    AND    CO. 

AND    LONDON 
1896 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1896, 
BY  MACMILLAN  AND  CO. 


HENRY  MORSE  STEPHENS 


Norfoooto 

J.  S.  Cuihing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  ft  Smith 
Norwood  AUsg.  U.S.A. 


NOTE 

THE  Memoir  of  Henriette  Renan  which  precedes  her 
correspondence  with  her  brother  is  the  exact  reproduc- 
tion of  a  pamphlet  of  which  Ernest  Renan  had  a 
hundred  copies  printed  in  September  1862  under  the 
title,  "  Henriette  Renan  :  A  Memorial  for  those  who 
knew  her."  In  its  opening  lines  the  following  sentence 
will  attract  attention :  "  These  pages  are  not  intended 
for  the  general  public,  and  will  never  be  offered  to  it." 

In  1883  Ernest  Renan  thus  expressed  himself  in 
the  Preface  to  his  "  Souvenirs  d'Enfance  et  de 
Jeunesse  " :  — 

"  The  person  who  has  had  most  influence  on  my  life 
—  my  sister  Henriette  —  scarcely  appears  in  this  work 
of  mine.  A  year  after  the  death  of  that  beloved  being, 
in  September  1862,  I  wrote  a  little  pamphlet,  conse- 
crated to  her  memory,  for  the  benefit  of  the  few  who 
had  known  her.  A  hundred  copies  only  were  printed. 
My  sister  was  so  modest,  her  aversion  to  the  bustle  of 
the  world  was  so  extreme,  that  if  I  had  offered  these 
pages  to  the  general  public  I  should  have  fancied  her 
casting  reproaches  on  me  out  of  her  grave.  The  idea 


513137 


VI 


NOTE 


of  adding  them  to  this  present  volume  has  occasionally 
occurred  to  me,  and  then  again  I  have  felt  it  would  be  a 
sort  of  desecration.  The  little  work  has  been  read  with 
sympathy  by  a  few  individuals  who  were  full  of  kindly 
feeling  towards  my  sister  and  myself.  But  I  have  no 
right  to  expose  a  memory  I  hold  so  sacred  to  the  scorn- 
ful judgment  which  is  part  of  the  right  acquired  over  a 
work  by  purchase.  It  seemed  to  me  I  should  do  as 
wrong  by  the  insertion  of  these  pages  in  a  book  placed 
on  the  open  market,  as  if  I  exhibited  her  portrait  in  an 
auction  room.  The  pamphlet  will  not  be  reprinted, 
therefore,  till  after  I  am  dead." 

In  a  codicil  to  his  will,  dated  November  4,  1888, 
Ernest  Renan  thus  authorises  the  present  reprint: 
"  My  wife  will  decide  the  nature  of  the  publicity  to 
be  given  to  my  little  volume  of  memorials  of  my  sister 
Henriette."  The  reprint  now  presented  was,  in  fact, 
prepared  by  Madame  Renan,  who  is  responsible  also 
for  the  selection  of  the  letters. 


MY  SISTER   HENRIETTE 

A    MEMOIR 

memory  is  but  an  imperceptible  mark  in  the  furrow 
each  individual  leaves  on  the  book  of  Eternity,  yet  it  is  not 
traced  in  vain.  The  human  conscience  is  the  highest  expres- 
sion known  to  us  of  the  summed-up  conscience  of  the  Universe. 
The  esteem  in  which  a  single  man  is  held  forms  a  part  of 
Absolute  Justice.  Thus,  although  lives  nobly  lived  stand  in  no 
need  of  recollection,  save  by  God  Himself,  some  effort  is  inva- 
riably made  to  fix  the  image  of  their  memory.  I  should  be  all 
the  more  to  blame  were  I  to  leave  this  duty  to  my  sister  Hen- 
riette  unperformed,  because  I  alone  knew  all  the  treasures  of 
that  elect  soul.  Her  timidity,  her  reserve,  her  fixed  opinion  that 
a  woman's  life  should  be  a  hidden  one,  cast  a  veil  over  her  rare 
qualities  which  few  were  permitted  to  lift.  Her  existence  was 
one  succession  of  acts  of  devotion,  destined  to  remain  unknown. 
Her  secret  shall  not  be  betrayed  by  me.  These  pages  were  not 
written  for  the  public,  and  will  never  be  offered  to  it.  But 
those  few  to  whom  she  revealed  her  inner  self  would  reproach 
me  did  I  not  endeavour  to  set  forth  in  order  anything  that 
served  to  complete  their  recollection  of  her. 


HENRIETTE   RENAN 


MY  sister  Henriette  was  born  at  Tre"guier  on  22nd 
July  1811.  Her  existence  was  saddened  early,  and 
absorbed  by  the  sterner  duties.  She  never  knew  any 
pleasures  save  those  she  drew  from  the  practice  of  vir- 
tue and  from  her  heart's  affections.  From  our  father 
she  inherited  a  melancholy  temperament,  which  left  her 
but  little  taste  for  frivolous  amusement,  and  which  even 
inspired  her  with  a  certain  inclination  to  shun  the  world 
and  its  delights.  She  had  none  of  that  gay,  lively, 
witty  nature  which  my  mother  carried  even  into  her 
vigorous  and  splendid  old  age.  Her  religious  feelings, 
narrowed  in  their  beginnings  within  the  Catholic  for- 
mula, were  always  deep  in  the  extreme.  Tre"guier,  the 
little  town  where  we  were  born,  is  an  ancient  episcopal 
city,  rich  in  poetic  memories.  It  was  one  of  those 
great  monastic  towns,  Gallic  and  Irish  at  once,  built 
by  the  Breton  emigrants  of  the  sixth  century.  Its 
founder  was  an  Abbe*  Tual  or  Tugdual.  When,  in  the 

3 


4  3ROTHEP  AND  SISTER 

~ 

ninth  century,  Nome'noe',  desirous  of  establishing  a 
Breton  nationality,  transformed  all  the  great  monas- 
teries of  the  coasts  of  the  Nord  into  bishoprics,  the 
"  Pabre-Tual,"  or  Monastery  of  St.  Tual,  was  among 
their  number.  In  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  cen- 
turies Tre*guier  became  a  somewhat  important  ecclesi- 
astical centre,  and  the  gathering-point  of  a  small  local 
nobility.  At  the  Revolution  the  Bishopric  was  sup- 
pressed, but  after  the  re-establishment  of  Catholic 
worship  the  important  Church  buildings  possessed  by 
the  town  caused  it  to  rise  again  into  an  ecclesiastical 
centre,  a  city  of  convents  and  religious  foundations. 
Bourgeois  life  has  developed  but  little  within  its  walls. 
Its  streets,  save  one  or  two,  are  long,  deserted  alleys, 
formed  by  high  convent  walls  or  ancient  canonical 
houses,  surrounded  by  their  gardens.  A  general  air 
of  distinction  strikes  you  everywhere,  and  gives  the 
poor  dead  city  a  charm  unpossessed  by  the  richer  and 
livelier  bourgeois  towns  which  have  sprung  up  over  the 
rest  of  that  country. 

The  cathedral  especially,  a  very  fine  fourteenth-cen- 
tury edifice,  with  its  tall  naves,  its  astonishingly  bold 
architecture,  its  graceful,  exceedingly  high  and  slender 
steeple,  and  its  old  Roman  tower,  the  remains  of  some 
still  more  ancient  building,  seemed  formed  to  inspire 
lofty  thoughts.  It  used  to  be  left  open  very  late  at 
night,  so  that  pious  folk  might  pray  there.  Lighted  by 


HENRI ETTE  REN  AN  5 

a  solitary  lamp,  in  that  warm  damp  atmosphere  peculiar 
to  ancient  buildings,  the  huge  empty  fabric  loomed  vast 
and  full  of  terror.  The  neighbourhood  of  the  town  is 
rich  in  legends,  beautiful  or  weird.  Within  a  quarter 
of  a  league  stands  the  chapel,  built  close  to  the  birth- 
place of  the  good  lawyer,  St.  Ives,  the  favourite  Breton 
saint  of  the  last  century,  whom  local  faith  has  ended  by 
erecting  to  the  position  of  defender  of  the  weak  and 
redresser  of  all  wrongs.  Near  it,  on  a  considerable 
eminence,  is  the  old  Church  of  St.  Michel,  long  since 
destroyed  by  lightning.  Thither  we  were  taken  on 
Holy  Thursday  every  year.  It  is  an  article  of  popular 
belief  that  on  that  day,  and  during  the  profound  silence 
then  imposed  on  them,  all  the  bells  travel  to  Rome  to 
crave  the  Papal  benediction.  We  used  to  climb  the 
ruin-covered  hillock  to  watch  them  pass,  and,  closing 
our  eyes,  we  could  see  them  float  through  the  air,  bend- 
ing gently,  their  robes  of  lace,  the  very  ones  they  had 
worn  at  their  baptismal  ceremony,  fluttering  softly  be- 
hind them.  Somewhat  farther  on,  in  a  charming  val- 
ley, rises  the  little  Chapel  of  the  Five  Wounds.  On 
the  farther  side  of  the  river,  beside  an  ancient  holy 
well,  is  Notre-Dame-du-Tromeur,  a  spot  much  vener- 
ated by  pilgrims. 

A  childhood  passed  in  these  surroundings,  full  of 
poetry  and  dreamy  sadness,  resulted  in  my  sister's 
strong  inclination  towards  a  life  of  retirement.  Some 


6  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

former  nuns,  driven  from  their  convent  by  the  Revo- 
lution, and  who  had  turned  school-teachers,  taught  her 
to  read  and  to  recite  the  Psalms  in  Latin.  She  learnt 
everything  that  is  chanted  in  church  by  heart,  and  the 
attention  she  later  bestowed  on  the  ancient  text,  com- 
paring it  with  the  French  and  the  Italian,  led  to  her 
knowing  a  good  deal  of  Latin,  though  she  never  regu- 
larly studied  it.  Nevertheless  her  education  would 
have  necessarily  remained  very  incomplete  had  not  a 
lucky  fate  given  her  an  instructress  superior  to  any 
the  neighbourhood  had  up  till  then  possessed.  The 
noble  families  of  Treguier  had  returned  from  the  emi- 
gration utterly  ruined.  A  lady  belonging  to  one  of 
these  families,  who  had  been  educated  in  England, 
commenced  giving  lessons.  She  was  a  person  of  dis- 
tinction both  in  tastes  and  manner.  She  made  a  deep 
impression  on  my  sister,  and  her  recollection  of  her 
never  grew  dim.  The  misfortunes  which  surrounded 
Henriette  in  early  life  increased  her  innate  tendency  to 
thoughtfulness.  Our  paternal  grandfather  had  be- 
longed to  a  kind  of  clan  of  peasant  sailors  which 
peoples  all  the  "pays"  of  Goe'lo.  Our  father  served 
with  the  fleets  of  the  Republic.  After  the  maritime 
disasters  of  those  days,  he  commanded  ships  on  his 
own  account,  and  by  degrees  was  carried  into  a  con- 
siderable trade.  This  was  a  great  blunder.  Absolutely 
untutored  in  business  matters,  simple  and  incapable  of 


HENRIETTE  RENAN  7 

calculation,  perpetually  checked  by  that  timidity  which 
makes  the  sailor  a  very  child  in  practical  life,  he  saw 
his  little  family  fortune  melt  gradually  away  into  an 
abyss  he  could  not  fathom.  His  weak  and  sensitive 
nature  could  not  withstand  such  trials  —  little  by  little 
his  grasp  on  existence  weakened.  My  sister  was  the 
hourly  spectator  of  the  ravages  made  by  anxiety  and 
misfortune  on  that  good  and  gentle  spirit,  strayed  into 
occupations  of  an  order  to  which  he  was  utterly  un- 
fitted. This  bitter  experience  led  to  her  precocious 
development.  By  the  time  she  was  twelve  years  old 
she  was  grave  in  thought  and  appearance,  borne  down 
with  anxiety,  haunted  by  anxious  thoughts  and  melan- 
choly presentiments.  Returning  from  one  of  his  long 
voyages  in  our  cold  and  gloomy  seas,  my  father  had 
one  last  gleam  of  happiness  —  I  came  into  the  world 
in  February  1823.  The  advent  of  a  little  brother  was 
a  great  comfort  to  my  sister.  She  attached  herself 
to  me  with  all  the  ardour  of  a  shy  and  tender  nature, 
endued  with  an  immense  longing  to  love  something. 
I  remember  yet  the  petty  tyrannies  I  practised  on  her, 
and  against  which  she  never  revolted.  When  she 
was  going  out  in  full  dress  to  attend  gatherings  of 
girls  of  her  own  age,  I  would  cling  to  her  gown  and 
beseech  her  to  remain.  Then  she  would  turn  back, 
take  off  her  holiday  attire,  and  stay  with  me.  One 
day,  in  joke,  she  threatened  she  would  die  if  I  was 


8  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

not  a  good  child,  and  pretended  to  be  dead,  in  fact, 
sitting  in  an  arm-chair.  The  horror  caused  me  by 
the  feigned  immobility  of  my  dear  sister  is  perhaps 
the  strongest  impression  ever  made  upon  me,  whom 
fate  did  not  permit  to  witness  her  last  sigh.  Beside 
myself,  I  flew  at  her,  and  bit  her  terribly  on  the  arm. 
I  can  hear  the  shriek  she  gave  even  now.  To  all  the 
reproaches  showered  on  me  I  could  only  make  one 
answer,  "But  why  were  you  dead?  Are  you  going 
to  die  again  ?  " 

In  July  1828  our  father's  misfortunes  culminated 
in  a  fearful  catastrophe.  One  day  his  ship  returned 
from  St.  Malo  into  the  port  of  Trdguier  without  him. 
The  crew,  being  questioned,  declared  they  had  not 
seen  him  for  several  days.  For  a  whole  month  my 
mother  sought  him  in  indescribable  anguish.  At  last 
she  heard  a  corpse  had  been  found  upon  the  shore 
at  Erqui,  a  village  lying  between  St.  Brieuc  and  Cape 
Fre*hel.  It  proved  to  be  our  father's  body. 

How  came  he  by  his  death  ?  Was  he  overtaken  by 
one  of  those  accidents  so  common  in  the  life  of  sea- 
faring men  ?  Did  he  forget  himself  in  one  of  those 
long  dreams  of  the  Infinite,  which,  in  that  Breton 
race,  often  verge  upon  the  eternal  slumber  ?  Did  he 
feel  he  had  earned  repose?  Had  he  seated  himself 
upon  the  rock,  conscious  he  had  struggled  enough,  and 
said,  "  This  stone  shall  be  the  stone  of  my  eternal  rest. 


HENRIETTE  RENAN  9 

Here  will  I  lie,  for  I  have  chosen  it ! "  We  know  not. 
He  was  buried  in  the  sand,  where  the  waves  sweep 
over  him  twice  daily.  I  have  not  yet  been  able  to 
raise  a  stone  which  shall  testify  to  the  passer-by  how 
much  I  owe  him.  My  sister's  grief  was  profound. 
She  inherited  my  father's  nature.  She  had  loved  him 
tenderly.  Every  time  she  spoke  of  him  it  was  with 
tears.  She  was  persuaded  his  sorely-tried  soul  stood 
justified  and  pure  for  ever  in  the  sight  of  God. 


II 


FROM  that  day  forward  poverty  was  our  appointed 
lot.  My  brother,  then  nineteen  years  of  age,  departed 
to  Paris,  and  there  entered  on  that  life  of  labour  and 
constant  application  which  never  was  to  know  its  full 
reward.  We  left  Tre*guier,  which  had  grown  too  sad  a 
place  of  residence  for  us,  and  went  to  live  at  Lannion, 
where  my  mother's  family  resided.  My  sister  was 
seventeen  years  old.  Her  religious  faith  had  always 
been  lively,  and  more  than  once  the  idea  of  entering 
the  conventual  life  had  much  engaged  her  thoughts. 
On  winter  evenings  she  would  take  me  to  church 
underneath  her  own  cloak.  It  was  a  great  delight 
to  me  to  tread  the  snow  under  its  all-embracing 
shelter.  But  for  me  she  would,  without  any  doubt 
whatever,  have  adopted  a  state  of  life  in  evident  ac- 
cordance with  her  native  piety,  her  lack  of  fortune, 
and  the  customs  of  her  country.  Her  heart  turned 
specially  to  the  Convent  of  Ste.  Anne  at  Lannion, 
which  united  the  care  of  the  sick  with  that  of 
the  education  of  young  girls.  Alas !  had  she  but 
followed  her  bent,  she  might  have  worked  more  suc- 

10 


HENRIETTE  REMAN  II 

cessfully  for  her  own  ultimate  happiness.  But  she 
was  too  good  a  daughter  and  too  devoted  a  sister  to 
prefer  her  own  peace  to  her  duties,  even  though  the 
religious  prejudices  which  she -then  shared  might  have 
reassured  her  on  that  head. 

From  that  time  forth  she  looked  upon  herself  as 
responsible  for  my  future.  Noticing  my  awkward 
movements  one  day,  she  perceived  I  was  striving  shyly 
to  conceal  the  rents  in  a  worn-out  garment.  She  burst 
into  tears.  The  sight  of  the  poor  child,  destined  to 
such  black  poverty,  with  instincts  so  removed  there- 
from, wrung  her  heart.  She  resolved  to  face  the  strug- 
gle with  life,  and  undertook  the  task  of  filling  up,  by 
her  unaided  efforts,  the  abyss  our  father's  misfortunes 
had  opened  at  our  feet.  A  young  girl's  manual  labour 
was  quite  unequal  to  such  an  undertaking.  The  career 
she  embraced  was  the  bitterest  of  all  others.  It  was 
decided  that  we  should  return  to  Treguier,  and  that 
she  should  there  take  up  the  duties  of  a  professional 
teacher.  Of  all  the  conditions  of  existence  open  to  the 
choice  of  a  well-educated  and  undowered  person,  the 
education  of  girls  in  a  small  provincial  town  is,  be- 
yond all  contradiction,  that  which  demands  the  greatest 
courage.  The  period  was  that  immediately  succeeding 
the  Revolution  of  1830,  an  unfortunate  and  critical 
moment  in  those  remote  provinces.  Under  the  Res- 
toration, the  nobility,  seeing  its  privileges  were  uncon- 


12  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

tested,  had  shared  frankly  in  the  social  movement. 
Now,  in  its  fancied  humiliation,  it  avenged  itself  by 
withdrawing  within  a  narrow  circle,  and  thus  im- 
poverished the  development  of  society  at  large.  All 
Legitimist  families  made  a  point  of  confiding  their 
children  to  religious  communities  alone.  The  middle 
class,  for  the  sake  of  being  in  the  fashion,  and  aping 
people  of  quality,  soon  followed  the  same  custom.  My 
sister — -incapable  of  condescending  to  those  vulgarly- 
clever  methods  without  which  it  is  well-nigh  impossible 
for  a  private  school  to  succeed  —  my  sister,  with  her 
unusual  distinction,  her  deep  earnestness,  and  her 
thorough  information,  saw  her  little  school  deserted. 
The  modesty,  the  reserve,  the  exquisite  tone  of  mind 
which  she  carried  into  everything  she  did,  were  so 
many  causes  of  her  failure  in  this  matter.  Struggling 
with  the  most  paltry  touchiness,  forced  to  reckon  with 
the  silliest  pretensions,  her  great  and  noble  spirit  wore 
itself  out  in  a  hopeless,  endless  contest  with  a  decadent 
society,  robbed  of  the  best  of  its  former  elements  by 
a  revolution  which  had  not  as  yet  endowed  it  with 
any  of  its  benefits. 

Some  few  people,  superior  to  the  "local  small-minded- 
ness, knew  how  to  value  her.  An  exceedingly  intelli- 
gent man,  free  from  the  prejudices  which  have  reigned 
supreme  in  provincial  towns  since  their  aristocratic 
population  has  either  completely  disappeared  or  grown 


HENRIETTE  RENAN  13 

warped  in  mind  and  stupidly  reactionary,  conceived 
a  very  deep  affection  for  her.  In  spite  of  a  birth- 
mark to  which  it  took  some  time  to  grow  accustomed, 
my  sister  was  at  that  age  remarkably  attractive. 
Those  who  only  knew  her  late  in  life,  and  worn  by 
a  trying  climate,  cannot  fancy  the  delicacy  of  her 
features  and  their  languorous  charm  in  earlier  years. 
Her  eyes  were  peculiarly  soft,  and  her  hand  the  pret- 
tiest and  daintiest  imaginable.  Certain  proposals  were 
made,  coupled  with  discreetly  indicated  conditions. 
The  effect  of  these  would,  in  fact,  have  been  to  sepa- 
rate her  in  a  measure  from  her  own  people,  for  whom 
it  was  thought  she  had  already  toiled  sufficiently.  She 
refused  them,  although  the  clear-mindedness  and  jus- 
tice of  her  own  nature  inspired  her  with  a  real  regard 
for  one  in  whom  she  recognised  similar  qualities.  She 
preferred  poverty  to  affluence  unshared  by  her  family. 
Yet  her  position  was  growing  more  and  more  distress- 
ing. The  fees  due  to  her  were  so  irregularly  paid, 
that  we  now  and  then  regretted  having  left  Lannion, 
where  we  had  met  with  far  greater  kindness  and  sym- 
pathy. Then  it  was  she  resolved  to  drain  the  bitter 
cup  to  its  very  dregs.  A  lady  friend  of  the  family, 
who  travelled  to  Paris  about  this  time,  spoke  to  her 
of  a  situation  as  under-mistress  in  a  small  school  for 
girls.  The  poor  girl  accepted  it.  At  the  age  of  four- 
and-twenty,  friendless,  without  advisers,  she  went  out 


14  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

into  a  world  which  was  utterly  unknown  to  her,  and 
in  which  she  was  doomed  to  serve  a  cruel  apprentice- 
ship. The  beginning  of  her  Paris  life  was  terrible. 
That  cold  and  arid  world,  so  full  of  imposition  and 
imposture,  that  populous  desert,  wherein  she  counted 
not  one  single  friend,  drove  her  desperate.  The  deep 
attachment  which  we  Bretons  bear  our  country,  our 
national  habits,  and  our  domestic  life,  awoke  in  her 
with  agonising  bitterness.  Lost  in  an  ocean  where 
her  modesty  was  misunderstood,  prevented  by  her 
extreme  reserve  from  contracting  those  kindly  acquaint- 
anceships which  console  and  support,  even  when  they 
do  not  materially  assist  us,  she  fell  into  a  state  of  nos- 
talgia so  profound  as  to  compromise  her  health.  What 
makes  the  Breton's  condition  so  cruel  in  the  early  days 
of  his  transplanting  from  his  home  is  that  he  feels 
forsaken  at  once  by  men  and  by  God  Himself.  The 
heavens  seem  darkened  to  him.  His  happy  belief  in 
the  general  morality  of  the  universe,  his  tranquil 
optimism,  are  shaken  to  their  foundations.  He  feels 
himself  cast  out  of  paradise  into  a  hell  of  icy  indif- 
ference. The  voice  of  all  that  is  good  and  beautiful 
sounds  hollow  in  his  ears,  and  he  is  tempted  to  cry 
out,  "How  shall  I  sing  the  song  of  the  Lord  in  a 
strange  land?"  To  crown  my  sister's  misfortunes, 
the  first  houses  to  which  she  was  led  by  fate  were 
quite  unworthy  of  her.  Let  the  reader  imagine  a 


HENRIETTE  REMAN  15 

gentle  girl,  who  had  never  left  her  God-fearing  little 
town,  her  mother,  and  her  friends,  suddenly  planted 
in  the  midst  of  a  frivolous-minded  school  society, 
where  her  serious  feelings  were  incessantly  wounded, 
and  whose  leaders  never  betrayed  any  sentiments  but 
such  as  proved  their  light-mindedness,  indifference, 
or  sordid  love  of  personal  interest.  Owing  to  these 
early  experiences  she  always  maintained  a  very  low 
opinion  of  the  methods  of  female  education  in  Paris. 
A  score  of  times  she  was  on  the  eve  of  departure, 
and  all  her  invincible  courage  was  needful  to  induce 
her  to  remain. 

But,  little  by  little,  people  learnt  to  value  her.  The 
management  of  the  studies  in  a  scholastic  establish- 
ment, a  very  creditable  one,  this  time  was  intrusted 
to  her;  but  the  obstacles  she  encountered  to  the  reali- 
sation of  her  views,  owing  to  the  niggardliness  inev- 
itable in  private  institutions,  and  almost  invariably 
countenanced  by  the  proprietors  for  the  sake  of  the 
paltry  gain  it  brings,  prevented  her  ever  taking  much 
pleasure  in  this  particular  line  of  teaching.  She  used 
to  work  sixteen  hours  a  day.  She  passed  all  the  pub- 
lic examinations  prescribed  by  the  regulations.  This 
labour  did  not  have  the  same  effect  on  her  mind  as 
it  might  have  on  a  more  mediocre  intelligence.  In- 
stead of  exhausting,  it  strengthened  it,  and  produced 
a  prodigious  mental  development.  Her  information, 


16  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

already  very  considerable,  became  exceptional.  She 
made  a  study  of  modern  history,  and  in  later  years  a 
few  words  of  mine  would  suffice  to  enable  her  to  seize 
the  sense  of  the  most  delicate  criticism.  Simul- 
taneously her  religious  ideas  underwent  modification. 
From  history  she  learnt  the  insufficiency  of  any 
dogma;  but  the  fundamental  religious  sentiment, 
which  was  hers  by  nature,  as  well  as  by  reason  of 
her  early  education,  was  too  deeply  rooted  to  be 
shaken.  All  that  development  of  thought  which 
might  have  been  dangerous  in  another  woman  was 
harmless  here,  for  she  kept  it  in  her  own  heart. 
The  cultivation  of  the  mind  had  its  absolute  and 
intrinsic  value  in  her  sight.  She  never  dreamt  of 
turning  it  into  a  means  of  satisfying  her  vanity.  It 
was  in  the  year  1838  that  she  brought  me  to  Paris. 
Educated  at  Tre"guier  by  some  worthy  priests  who 
managed  a  sort  of  seminary  there,  I  had  early  given 
signs  of  an  inclination  towards  the  ecclesiastical  state 
of  life.  The  prizes  I  won  at  school  delighted  my 
sister,  who  mentioned  them  to  a  kind-hearted  and  dis- 
tinguished man,  physician  to  the  school  in  which  she 
taught,  and  a  very  zealous  Catholic,  Dr.  Descuret, 
author  of  "  La  Me"decine  des  Passions."  He  mentioned 
the  chance  of  getting  a  good  pupil  to  Monseigneur 
Dupanloup,  then  the  brilliantly  successful  manager  of 
the  small  seminary  of  "St.  Nicholas  du  Chardonnet," 


HENRI ETTE  REN  AN  17 

and  came  back  to  my  sister  with  the  news  that  he 
had  the  offer  of  a  scholarship  for  me.  I  was  then 
fifteen  and  a  half  years  old.  My  sister,  whose  own 
Catholic  convictions  were  beginning  to  totter,  was 
already  inclined  to  view  the  very  clerical  bent  of  my 
education  with  some  regret.  But  she  knew  the  respect 
due  to  a  child's  faith.  Never  did  she  breathe  one 
word  to  dissuade  me  from  a  path  which  I  was  follow- 
ing of  my  freest  volition.  She  came  to  see  me  every 
week,  still  wearing  the  plain  green  woollen  shawl  which 
had  sheltered  her  proud  poverty  away  in  Brittany. 
She  was  just  the  same  gentle,  loving  girl,  but  with  a 
touch  of  firmness  and  wisdom  which  the  trials  of  life 
and  her  severe  studies  had  added  to  her. 

The  educational  career  is  such  a  thankless  one  for 
women,  that  after  five  years  spent  in  Paris,  and  several 
illnesses  brought  on  by  over-work,  my  sister  was  still 
far  from  being  able  to  suffice  for  all  the  charges  she 
had  taken  upon  herself.  True  it  is  that  she  took  a 
view  of  them  which  would  have  discouraged  any  one 
else.  Our  father  had  left  debts  far  exceeding  the 
value  of  our  paternal  homestead,  the  only  property 
remaining  to  us.  But  our  mother  was  so  beloved,  and 
in  those  days,  in  that  kindly  country,  business  was 
still  done  after  so  patriarchal  a  fashion,  that  no  creditor 
dreamt  of  pressing  for  the  discharge  of  our  liabilities. 
It  was  settled  that  my  mother  should  keep  the  house 


1 8  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

and  repay  what  and  when  she  could.  My  sister  would 
not  listen  to  any  idea  of  rest  till  all  this  old  and 
heavy  debt  was  cleared  off.  Thus  it  was  that  she 
ended  by  accepting  proposals  made  her  in  1840  to 
undertake  private  teaching  in  Poland.  It  was  a  ques- 
tion of  years  of  expatriation  and  of  accepting  a  state 
of  trying  personal  dependence.  But  she  had  made  a 
far  greater  effort  when  she  had  quitted  Brittany  to  go 
out  into  the  wide  world.  She  started  in  January  1841, 
crossed  the  Black  Forest  and  the  whole  of  South 
Germany  buried  in  snow,  joined  the  family  she  was 
about  to  enter  at  Vienna,  and  then,  crossing  the  Car- 
pathian range,  she  reached  the  Chateau  of  Clemensow 
on  the  banks  of  the  Bug,  a  dreary  residence,  where 
for  ten  long  years  she  was  to  learn  how  bitter  exile 
is,  even  when  sweetened  by  a  lofty  motive. 

This  time,  at  all  events,  fate  brought  her  one  com- 
pensation for  its  many  former  injustices,  by  placing 
her  in  a  family  which  I  may  mention  without  hesita- 
tion, since  a  contemporary  glory  which  has  brought  its 
name  to  every  lip  has  added  lustre  to  its  historic  re- 
nown. It  was  that  of  Comte  Andre*  Zamoysky.  The 
passionate  eagerness  with  which  she  undertook  her 
duties  —  the  affection  she  conceived  for  her  three 
pupils  —  the  delight  of  seeing  her  efforts  bear  fruit, 
especially  in  the  person  of  her  whose  youth  caused 
her  to  remain  longest  under  her  care,  the  Princess 


HENRIETTE  RENAN  19 

Cecile  Lubomirska  —  the  unusual  esteem  she  earned 
from  all  the  members  of  this  noble  family,  who  never 
ceased,  even  after  her  return  to  France,  to  appeal  to 
her  sagacity  for  timely  counsel  —  the  close  affinity,  in 
their  mutual  gravity  and  uprightness,  between  her 
own  character  and  that  of  the  household  in  which 
she  dwelt  —  all  helped  her  to  forget  the  sadness  in- 
separable from  the  nature  of  her  position,  and  the 
rigours  of  a  climate  exceedingly  unsuited  to  her  con- 
stitution. She  grew  fond  of  Poland,  and  conceived  a 
special  feeling  of  esteem  for  the  Polish  peasant,  in 
whom  she  recognised  a  good-hearted  being,  full  of 
lofty  religious  instincts,  not  unlike  the  peasantry  of 
Brittany,  but  of  a  less  energetic  nature.  Her  travels 
in  Germany  and  Italy  completed  the  process  of  ripen- 
ing her  intelligence.  She  made  several  and  repeated 
stays  at  Warsaw,  Vienna,  and  Dresden.  Venice  and 
Florence  were  a  perfect  dream  of  delight  to  her;  but 
Rome  especially  enthralled  her.  In  that  imperial  city 
she  grew  to  see,  and  that  calmly  enough,  the  distinc- 
tion the  philosophic  mind  must  draw  between  religion 
in  its  essence  and  its  specific  formula.  She  loved, 
with  Lord  Byron,  to  call  it  "dear  city  of  my  soul." 
Like  all  foreigners  who  have  lived  there,  she  even 
grew  to  feel  indulgent  towards  those  puerile  and 
senseless  details  which  environ  the  Papacy  in  these 
later  days. 


Ill 


IN  1845  I  left  tne  Seminary  of  St.  Sulpice. 
Thanks  to  the  wise  and  liberal  spirit  animating  the 
managers  of  that  establishment,  I  was  far  advanced 
in  philological  study,  and  my  religious  convictions 
were  correspondingly  shaken.  Here  again  Henriette 
was  my  true  helper.  She  had  outstripped  me  in  the 
path  of  doubt,  and  her  faith  in  Catholicism  had  com- 
pletely disappeared ;  but  she  had  always  refrained 
from  exercising  the  slightest  influence  over  me  in 
that  respect.  When  I  made  known  to  her  the  doubts 
which  tormented  me,  making  me  feel  it  a  duty  to 
relinquish  a  career  which  indispensably  demands  the 
most  unquestioning  faith,  she  was  overjoyed,  and 
offered  her  aid  to  support  me  on  the  thorny  road. 
I  was  about  entering  on  life,  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
three,  old  in  thought,  but  as  inexperienced,  as  igno- 
rant of  the  world  as  a  young  man  well  could  be.  I 
literally  did  not  know  a  soul ;  I  lacked  the  assurance 
of  an  ordinary  boy  of  fifteen.  I  had  not  even 
taken  my  degree  of  bachelier  h  lettres.  We  agreed 
that  I  should  seek  for  some  employment  in  a  school 

20 


HENRIETTE  REN  AN*  21 

in  Paris  of  the  nature  known  as  an  pair,  which  would, 
that  is  to  say,  give  me  board  and  lodging,  leaving 
me  considerable  leisure  for  my  studies.  My  sister 
advanced  me  a  sum  of  twelve  hundred  francs  (forty- 
four  pounds),  to  enable  me  to  wait,  and  supplement 
whatever  insufficiency  of  income  such  a  position 
might  at  first  present. 

That  sum  was  the  corner-stone  of  my  whole  life. 
I  never  exhausted  it,  but  it  secured  me  the  calm  of 
mind  so  indispensable  if  I  was  to  think  in  peace,  and 
saved  me  from  being  overwhelmed  by  taskwork  which 
would  have  broken  me  down.  At  this  crucial  mo- 
ment in  my  life,  Henriette's  beautiful  letters  were 
my  support  and  consolation.  While  I  was  struggling 
with  difficulties  increased  by  my  total  inexperience 
of  the  world,  her  health  was  suffering  severely  from 
the  severity  of  the  Polish  winters ;  a  chronic  affec- 
tion of  the  larynx  developed,  and  in  1850  took  so 
serious  a  form  that  her  return  was  deemed  necessary. 
Her  task,  moreover,  was  accomplished ;  our  father's 
liabilities  had  been  completely  discharged ;  the  small 
property  he  had  left  us  was  safe  in  my  mother's 
hands,  freed  from  all  debt,  and  my  brother's  work  had 
earned  him  a  position  which  promised  to  become  a 
wealthy  one.  The  idea  of  a  meeting  occurred  to  both 
of  us.  I  joined  her  in  Berlin  in  September  1850. 
Those  ten  years  of  exile  had  utterly  transformed  her. 


22  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

Premature  old  age  had  wrinkled  her  brow.  Of  the 
charms  she  still  possessed  when  she  bade  me  farewell 
in  the  parlour  of  the  Seminary  of  St.  Nicholas,  naught 
remained  save  her  delightful  expression  of  ineffable 
goodness. 

Then  began  those  happy  years,  the  recollection  of 
which  still  draws  tears  from  my  eyes. 

We  hired  a  small  apartment  at  the  bottom  of  a 
garden  near  the  Val  de  Grace.  Here  we  enjoyed 
the  most  perfect  solitude.  She  had  no  relations  with 
the  outer  world,  and  desired  none.  Our  windows 
looked  over  the  garden  of  the  Carmelite  nuns  in  the 
Rue  de  1'Enfer.  The  life  led  by  these  recluses  gave, 
in  a  measure,  the  pattern  of  her  own,  and  was  her 
only  interest  during  the  long  hours  I  was  absent  at 
the  Bibliotheque  Nationale.  She  had  the  extremest 
respect  for  my  work;  I  have  known  her  sit  of  an 
evening  for  hours  by  my  side,  holding  her  breath 
lest  she  should  disturb  me.  Yet  she  liked  to  see 
me,  and  the  door  between  our  two  rooms  was  always 
open.  So  judicious  and  so  ripened  had  her  affection 
for  me  grown,  that  the  secret  communion  of  our 
thoughts  sufficed  her.  Naturally  exacting  and  jeal- 
ous-hearted, she  was  satisfied  with  but  a  few  minutes 
each  day,  so  long  as  she  felt  assured  she  was  the 
sole  object  of  my  affection.  Thanks  to  her  vigorous 
economy,  she  managed  my  home  on  exceedingly  lim- 


HENRIETTE  RENAN  23 

ited  means,  so  that  nothing  ever  lacked,  and  even 
endued  it  with  a  simple  charm  of  its  own.  So  per- 
fect was  the  union  of  our  minds  that  we  scarcely 
needed  to  communicate  our  thoughts.  Our  general 
views  concerning  the  universe  and  the  deity  were 
identical.  There  was  not  a  delicate  shade  in  the 
theories  I  was  then  evolving  which  she  did  not  ap- 
preciate. She  surpassed  me  in  knowledge  on  many 
points  of  modern  history,  which  she  had  studied  at 
the  fountain-head.  The  general  plan  of  my  career, 
the  scheme  of  inflexible  sincerity  I  had  mapped  out, 
was  so  essentially  the  combined  product  of  our  two 
consciences,  that,  had  I  been  tempted  to  fail  in  any 
particular  of  it,  she,  like  a  second  self,  would  have 
been  found  beside  me  to  call  me  back  to  duty. 
Thus  her  influence  in  my  mental  sphere  was  very 
great.  She  was  my  incomparable  amanuensis.  She 
copied  all  my  works,  and  understood  them  so  thor- 
oughly that  I  could  trust  to  her  as  to  the  living  in- 
dex of  my  own  intelligence.  In  the  matter  of  form 
I  owe  her  an  immensity.  She  read  everything  I 
wrote  in  the  proofs,  and  her  invaluable  criticism 
would  discover  delicate  shades  of  negligence  in  style 
which  might  otherwise  have  escaped  me.  She  had 
formed  an  admirable  one  of  her  own,  modelled  on  the 
classics,  so  severely  correct  that  I  doubt  whether,  since 
the  days  of  Port  Royal,  any  writer  has  ever  set  him- 


24  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

self  a  loftier  ideal  of  perfect  diction.  This  made  her 
a  very  severe  critic.  She  favoured  but  few  of  our 
contemporary  writers,  and  when  she  saw  the  essays  I 
had  composed  before  our  reunion,  and  which  had  not 
had  time  to  reach  her  in  Poland,  she  was  only  half 
contented  with  them.  She  shared  the  tendency  of 
their  ideas,  and  she  felt,  at  all  events,  that  the  meas- 
ured exposition  of  deep  thoughts  of  such  an  order 
should  be  expressed  by  each  person  with  perfect  free- 
dom of  individual  speech ;  but  she  thought  their  form 
abrupt  and  careless.  Some  passages  in  them  struck 
her  as  being  exaggerated,  harsh  in  tone,  and  as  treat- 
ing our  language  after  a  fashion  which  was  barely 
respectful. 

She  convinced  me  that  everything  may  be  clearly 
expressed  in  the  simple  and  correct  style  of  the  best 
authors,  and  that  novel  forms  and  violent  imagery 
always  denote  either  misplaced  pretension  or  ignorance 
of  the  writer's  real  resources.  Thus  a  fundamental 
change  in  my  own  style  dates  from  this  period.  I 
formed  a  habit  of  composing  with  an  eye  to  her  re- 
marks, writing  various  passages  to  see  what  effect  they 
would  produce  on  her,  and  resolved  to  sacrifice  them 
should  she  demand  it. 

Since  I  lost  her,  this  habit  of  my  mind  has  grown 
to  be  a  semblance  of  the  anguish  of  a  patient  who 
has  suffered  amputation,  and  who  has  the  limb  he 


HENRIETTE  RENAN  25 

was  deprived  of  constantly  within  his  sight.  She  was 
a  radical  factor  in  my  intellectual  existence,  and  with 
her  a  part  of  my  actual  being  passed  away.  On  all 
philosophical  subjects  we  had  grown  to  see  with  the 
same  eyes  and  feel  as  with  one  heart.  She  so  thor- 
oughly comprehended  my  method  of  thought  that  she 
almost  always  anticipated  what  I  was  about  to  say, 
the  idea  striking  us  both  at  the  same  moment.  But 
on  one  point  she  far  surpassed  me.  While  I  still 
sought,  in  matters  of  the  soul,  for  interesting  con- 
troversy or  artistic  study,  nothing  ever  tarnished  the 
purity  of  her  close  communion  with  Good.  Her  re- 
ligious worship  of  the  truth  suffered  not  the  smallest 
note  of  discord.  One  quality  of  my  work  which  gave 
her  pain  was  the  sarcastic  spirit  which  possessed  me, 
and  which  I  was  apt  to  carry  into  my  best  work. 
Never  having  known  real  suffering,  I  took  the  cautious 
smile  which  human  vanity  or  weakness  will  provoke  to 
be  a  sort  of  token  of  my  philosophy.  This  habit  of 
mine  distressed  her,  and  I  relinquished  it  little  by  little 
for  her  sake.  I  now  see  how  right  she  was.  Good  men 
should  be  simply  good.  Every  touch  of  sarcasm  implies 
some  residuum  of  vanity  and  personal  defiance,  which 
in  the  long-run  surely  degenerates  into  want  of  taste. 

Her  religion  had  reached  the  acme  of  simplicity. 
She  absolutely  rejected  the  supernatural,  but  she 
preserved  the  deepest  attachment  to  the  Christian 


26  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

practice.  It  was  not  Protestantism  exactly,  even  in 
its  broadest  sense,  which  attracted  her.  She  had  the 
tenderest  recollection  of  Catholicism,  of  the  chanting, 
and  Psalms,  and  pious  practices  amid  which  her  child- 
hood had  been  spent.  She  was  a  saint  minus  the 
saint's  precise  faith  in  religious  symbolism  and  its 
narrow  observances. 

About  a  month  before  her  death  we  had  a  religious 
conversation  with  that  excellent  man  Dr.  Gaillardot 
on  the  terrace  of  our  house  at  Ghazir.  She  would  fain 
have  checked  my  strong  inclination  towards  the  for- 
mulated conception  of  an  impersonal  Deity  and  a 
purely  ideal  immortality.  Without  being  what  is  vul- 
garly called  a  Deist,  she  could  not  tolerate  the  thought 
of  reducing  religion  to  a  mere  abstract  idea.  In  prac- 
tice, at  all  events,  all  was  clear  to  her.  "Yes,"  she 
said,  "  when  my  last  hour  comes,  I  shall  have  the  con- 
solation of  telling  myself  I  have  done  all  the  good  I 
could.  If  there  is  a  thought  on  earth  which  is  not 
vanity,  that  is  one." 

A  keen  appreciation  of  Nature  was  the  source  of 
some  of  her  most  exquisite  pleasures.  A  fine  day, 
a  sunbeam,  a  flower,  would  suffice  to  delight  her. 
She  had  a  perfect  comprehension  of  the  delicate  art 
of  the  great  Italian  idealist  schools,  but  she  could 
find  no  pleasure  in  that  brutal  or  violent  style  which 
seeks  for  something  else  than  beauty. 


HENRIETTE  RENAN  27 

A  special  circumstance  gave  her  an  unusual  acquaint- 
ance with  the  history  of  the  Art  of  the  Middle  Ages. 
She  it  was  who  collected  for  me  all  the  notes  for 
the  paper  on  the  condition  of  the  Fine  Arts  in  the 
fourteenth  century  which  will  be  incorporated  in  the 
twenty-fourth  volume  of  the  "Histoire  Litteraire  de 
France."  For  this  purpose,  and  with  the  most  admi- 
rable patience  and  care,  she  examined  every  great 
archaeological  work  published  during  the  last  half- 
century,  and  collected  every  item  that  could  serve 
our  purpose.  Her  own  conclusions,  which  she  noted 
down  at  the  same  time,  were  remarkable  for  their 
accuracy,  and  I  almost  invariably  had  to  adopt  them 
in  the  end.  To  complete  our  researches,  we  travelled 
together  into  the  country  which  was  the  cradle  of 
Gothic  art,  the  Vexin,  the  Valois,  and  the  Beauvois 
regions,  and  the  localities  lying  round  Noyon,  Laon, 
and  Rheims.  During  all  this  inquiry,  in  which  she 
took  the  deepest  interest,  she  displayed  extraordinary 
activity.  The  ideal  life  to  her  was  one  of  labour 
and  retirement  lapped  in  affection.  Often  she  would 
repeat  those  words  of  Thomas  a  Kempis,  "  In  angello 
cum  libello."  Amid  such  peaceful  avocations  many 
happy  hours  were  spent,  her  mind  perfectly  tranquil, 
and  her  heart,  generally  so  anxious,  in  deepest  repose. 
Her  power  of  work  was  prodigious.  I  have  known 
her  never  quit  her  self-imposed  task  from  morning 


28  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

till  night  for  days  together.  She  assisted  in  editing 
several  educational  journals,  one  managed  by  her 
friend  Mdlle.  Ulliac-Tre'madeure  in  particular.  She 
never  signed  her  articles,  and  such  was  her  modesty 
that  she  gave  herself  no  opportunity  of  gaining  any- 
thing beyond  the  esteem  of  a  small  minority.  But 
indeed  the  vile  taste  prevailing  in  the  composition 
of  all  French  works  intended  for  the  purposes  of 
female  education  prevented  her  ever  looking  for  great 
pecuniary  remuneration  or  success.  This  work  was 
undertaken  more  especially  to  oblige  her  friend,  who 
had  grown  old  and  infirm.  It  was  in  her  letters  that 
her  whole  being  revealed  itself.  Her  travelling  jour- 
nals, too,  were  excellent.  I  had  looked  to  her  to 
relate  the  unscientific  details  of  our  journey  in  the 
East.  Alas  !  the  history  of  that  aspect  of  my  enter- 
prise, which  I  had  confided  to  her  care,  has  perished 
with  her.  The  fragment  I  have  discovered  among  her 
papers  is  excellent.  We  hope  to  publish  it,  and  com- 
plete what  is  lacking  with  her  letters.  Later  on  we 
shall  bring  out  a  description  written  by  her  of  the  great 
maritime  expeditions  of  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  cen- 
turies. She  had  studied  deeply  for  the  purpose  of  this 
work,  and  had  brought  a  critical  acumen  to  bear  upon 
it  rarely  found  in  books  intended  for  the  young.  She 
never  did  anything  by  halves.  Her  fine  taste  for  abso- 
lute truthfulness  proved  the  accuracy  of  her  judgment. 


HENRIETTE  RENAN  29 

She  was  not  witty,  if  that  word  is  taken,  in  the 
French  acceptation,  to  mean  something  light  and 
bantering — she  never  made  game  of  any  living  being. 
She  hated  all  malice,  and  thought  it  cruelty.  I  re- 
member once,  at  a  pardon  in  Lower  Brittany,  to 
which  we  went  by  water,  our  boat  was  preceded  by 
one  filled  with  poor  ladies,  who,  in  their  desire  to  be 
smart  for  the  occasion,  had  indulged  in  a  style  of 
toilet  decoration  at  once  paltry  and  tasteless.  Our 
companions  laughed  at  them,  and  the  poor  ladies 
perceived  it.  I  saw  her  burst  into  tears.  To  her  it 
seemed  barbarous  cruelty  to  make  a  mock  of  harm- 
less beings  who  were  forgetting  their  troubles  in  a 
day's  pleasuring,  and  who  perhaps  had  pinched  them- 
selves sorely  out  of  deference  to  public  opinion.  A 
person  who  attracted  ridicule  at  once  acquired  her 
pity.  With  pity  she  gave  love,  and  set  herself  be- 
tween the  mocker  and  his  prey. 

Hence  arose  her  indifference  to  society,  and  her 
lack  of  that  ordinary  conversation  which  is  almost 
invariably  a  tissue  of  ill-nature  and  frivolity.  She 
had  grown  old  before  her  time,  and  she  had  a  habit 
of  exaggerating  her  age,  both  in  her  dress  and  man- 
ner. She  had  a  sort  of  worship  for  sorrow.  She 
welcomed,  she  almost  cultivated,  every  opportunity 
of  shedding  tears.  Grief  became  an  enduring  and 
almost  an  enjoyable  sensation  with  her.  Middle-class 


30  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

people,  as  a  rule,  misunderstood  her,  and  thought  her 
stiff  and  embarrassed  in  manner.  Nothing  which 
was  not  completely  good  in  its  way  found  favour 
in  her  eyes.  She  could  not  be  false  to  her  own 
self.  The  lower  orders  and  peasants,  on  the  con- 
trary, found  her  exquisitely  kind,  and  those  who 
knew  how  to  touch  the  finest  chords  of  her  nature 
soon  learnt  to  appreciate  its  depth  and  its  distinc- 
tion. 

She  had  charming  womanly  flashes  now  and  then. 
Her  youth  would  return  to  her  for  the  nonce;  she 
would  seem  to  smile  at  life,  and  the  veil  that  parted 
her  from  the  outer  world  would  drop. 

These  passing  moments  of  enchanting  weakness, 
fleeting  gleams  of  a  dawn  long  past,  were  full  of 
melancholy  tenderness.  She  was  far  superior  in  this 
particular  to  those  persons  who  profess  the  indiffer- 
ence preached  by  the  Mystic  school  in  all  its  gloomy 
abstraction.  She  loved  life,  she  was  full  of  good 
taste,  she  could  smile  over  a  jewel  or  some  womanly 
trifle  as  she  would  smile  upon  a  flower.  She  had 
never  pronounced  the  ascetic  Christian's  sweeping 
renunciation  of  Nature.  Virtue,  in  her  eyes,  was  an 
austere  endeavour,  a  deliberate  effort,  the  natural 
instinct  of  a  pure  soul,  tending  in  spontaneous  striv- 
ing towards  good,  serving  God  without  fear  or  trem- 
bling. 


HENRIETTE  REN  AN  31 

Thus  for  six  years  we  lived  a  very  pure  and  ele- 
vated life.  My  position  was  always  a  very  modest 
one,  but  that  was  her  own  desire.  Even  had  I 
thought  of  it,  she  would  not  have  permitted  me  to 
sacrifice  one  tittle  of  my  independence  to  my  worldly 
advancement.  The  unexpected  disasters  which  befell 
our  brother,  and  led  to  the  loss  of  all  our  savings, 
did  not  dismay  her.  She  would  have  gone  abroad 
again,  had  that  been  necessary  to  ensure  the  steady 
development  of  my  literary  life.  Oh !  my  God,  have 
I  done  all  that  in  me  lay  to  ensure  her  happiness? 
With  what  bitterness  do  I  now  reproach  myself  for 
my  habit  of  reserve  towards  her,  for  not  having  told 
her  oftener  how  dear  I  held  her,  for  having  yielded 
too  easily  to  my  love  of  silent  meditation,  for  not 
having  made  the  most  of  every  hour  in  which  she 
was  spared  to  me !  But  I  take  that  rare  soul  to  wit- 
ness that  she  was  always  in  my  heart  of  hearts,  that 
she  ruled  my  whole  moral  life  as  none  other  ever 
ruled,  that  she  was  the  constant  beginning  and  end 
of  all  my  existence,  in  sorrow  and  in  joy.  If  I 
failed  her,  it  was  by  a  certain  stiffness  of  manner 
which  should  never  give  pause  to  those  who  know 
me  well,  and  by  a  feeling  of  respect,  misplaced  per- 
haps, which  caused  me  instinctively  to  avoid  any- 
thing resembling  a  desecration  of  her  holiness.  A 
similar  feeling  checked  her  in  her  intercourse  with 


32  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

me.  My  lengthened  clerical  education,  one  of  abso- 
lute seclusion  during  four  years,  had  given  me  a 
habit  of  mind  in  this  respect  which  her  inherent  and 
delicate  reserve  prevented  her  opposing  as  much  as 
she  might  have  done  perhaps. 


IV 


MY  inexperience  of  life,  and  my  ignorance,  es- 
pecially of  the  profound  difference  between  the  male 
and  female  heart,  led  me  to  ask  a  sacrifice  of  her, 
which  would  have  been  beyond  the  powers  of  any 
other  woman.  I  had  too  deep  a  feeling  of  what  I 
owed  to  such  a  friend  to  dream  of  changing  our 
manner  of  life  in  any  way  without  her  approbation. 
But  she  herself,  with  her  usual  great-heartedness, 
took  the  first  step.  In  the  earliest  days  after  we 
met  again,  she  strongly  recommended  me  to  marry. 
She  frequently  recurred  to  the  subject;  she  even 
mentioned  to  one  of  our  friends,  unknown  to  me, 
a  marriage  she  had  planned  for  me,  and  which  had 
come  to  nothing.  The  initiative  she  thus  displayed 
led  me  into  an  absolute  mistake.  I  sincerely  be- 
lieved it  would  cause  her  no  pain  were  I  to  tell 
her  I  had  fixed  my  choice  upon  a  person  worthy  to 
share  my  home  with  her.  I  had  always  taken  for 
granted  she  would  ever  remain  what  she  had 
hitherto  been  to  me,  an  accomplished  and  beloved 
sister,  incapable  of  giving  or  taking  offence,  sure 
D  33 


34  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

enough  of  the  feeling  I  had  for  her  not  to  be 
wounded  by  that  with  which  another  person  might 
inspire  me.  I  now  see  how  mistaken  such  an  idea 
was.  A  woman's  love  differs  from  a  man's.  All 
her  affections  are  jealous  and  exclusive.  She  admits 
no  shade  of  difference  betwixt  divers  kinds  of  affec- 
tion. But  some  excuse  I  had.  I  was  misled  by  my 
own  extreme  simplicity,  and  to  some  extent  also  by 
my  sister  herself.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  believe  she 
was  the  dupe  of  her  own  brave  heart.  When  the 
marriage  she  had  planned  for  me  fell  through,  she 
was  sorry  after  a  fashion,  although  in  some  respects 
the  idea  had  ceased  to  tempt  her.  But  so  mysteri- 
ous is  the  heart  of  woman,  that  the  trial  she  had 
herself  gone  out  smilingly  to  meet  seemed  cruel 
when  it  came  to  her.  She  was  ready  and  willing  to 
drink  the  bitter  cup  her  own  hands  had  prepared, 
but  she  shrunk  from  that  I  offered  her,  though  I 
had  used  all  my  art  to  make  it  sweet.  Such  is  the 
terrible  result  of  exaggerated  delicacy  of  sentiment. 
A  brother  and  sister  united  by  the  closest  affection, 
just  for  lack  of  sufficient  plain-speaking,  came  to  lay 
snares  for  each  other  in  all  unconsciousness,  to  seek 
and  fail  to  find  each  other  in  the  dark. 

Those  were  bitter  days  to  us.  We  were  tossed 
by  every  tempest  loving  hearts  can  know.  When 
she  told  me  she  had  only  suggested  my  marrying, 


HENRIETTE  RENAN  35 

in  the  first  instance,  in  the  desire  of  trying  my 
affection  for  herself,  when  she  warned  me  that 
the  instant  of  my  union  with  another  person  would 
be  that  of  her  own  departure,  my  heart  stood  still. 
Do  I  imply  that  this  was  the  real  feeling  actuating 
her,  that  she  actually  desired  to  raise  obstacles  in 
the  way  of  the  marriage  I  longed  for  ?  No !  in 
good  truth.  'Twas  but  the  whirlwind  in  her  pas- 
sionate soul,  the  revolt  of  a  heart  whose  love  was 
strong  to  violence.  The  moment  she  and  Mdlle. 
Cornelie  Scheffer  met,  they  conceived  that  mutual 
affection  which  later  was  so  dear  to  both  of  them. 
M.  Ary  Scheffer's  open  and  noble  manner  struck 
and  enraptured  her.  She  saw  middle-class  meanness 
and  paltry  touchiness  had  no  place  there.  Her  good- 
will was  aroused,  and  yet,  at  the  decisive  moment, 
the  woman  in  her  woke  again.  Her  power  for  good- 
will left  her. 

At  last  the  day  dawned  which  was  to  end  this 
cruel  suffering.  Driven  into  choosing  between  two 
affections,  I  sacrificed  everything  to  the  older  —  that 
which  verged  most  closely  on  a  duty.  I  told  Mdlle. 
Scheffer  that  I  could  never  see  her  again  until  my 
sister's  heart  ceased  to  bleed  at  the  thought  of  our 
meetings.  This  took  place  in  the  evening.  I  went 
home  and  told  my  sister  what  I  had  done.  A  great 
revulsion  swept  over  her  soul.  The  thought  of  hav- 


36  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

ing  prevented  a  union  so  much  desired  by  me  rilled 
her  with  bitterest  remorse.  Very  early  next  morning 
she  hastened  to  M.  Scheffer's  house,  and  spent  long 
hours  mingling  her  tears  with  those  of  my  intended 
bride.  They  parted  cheerfully  and  in  firm  friend- 
ship. After  my  marriage  indeed,  as  before  it,  we 
had  all  things  in  common.  It  was  her  savings 
which  rendered  the  young  housekeeping  a  possibility. 
Without  her  I  could  never  have  coped  with  my  new 
responsibilities.  But  so  confident  was  I  in  her  good- 
ness that  I  only  long  afterwards  recognised  the 
ingenuousness  of  my  own  behaviour.  These  alter- 
nations in  her  moods  went  on  for  a  considerable 
time.  Again  and  again  the  cruel  overmastering  de- 
mons of  over-anxious  tenderness,  of  jealousy  and 
sudden  heart  rebellion  and  swift  regrets  awoke,  and 
tortured  her.  Often  her  melancholy  talk  would  hint 
at  severing  her  own  existence  from  one  which  in  her 
gloomiest  hours  she  would  assert  no  longer  stood  in 
need  of  her.  But  such  moments  were  but  as  the 
remnant  of  some  evil  dream,  which  gradually  disap- 
pears. The  delicate  tact  and  feeling  of  the  sister  I 
had  given  her  won  the  completest  victory.  When 
for  a  passing  moment  she  would  blame  me,  Cor- 
n61ie's  gentle  intervention,  her  simple  gaiety  and 
charm,  would  change  our  tears  to  laughter,  and  we 
ended  the  matter  in  a  mutual  embrace.  The  up- 


HENRIETTE  RENAW  37 

Tightness  in  heart  and  feeling  manifested  by  those 
two  women,  grappling  with  the  most  delicate  of  all 
the  problems  of  the  affections,  were  my  perpetual 
admiration.  I  came  to  bless  the  sufferings  which 
had  earned  me  such  a  happy  reconciliation.  The 
ingenuous  hope  I  had  indulged  of  seeing  another 
besides  myself  complete  my  sister's  happiness,  and 
bring  into  her  existence  a  gaiety  and  stir  I  person- 
ally did  not  know  how  to  supply,  was  occasionally 
realised.  More  fortunate  than  my  indiscretion  war- 
ranted, I  saw  my  imprudence  turn  to  wisdom,  and 
enjoyed  the  fruits  of  my  own  foolhardiness. 

The  birth  of  my  little  son  Ary  completed  the  work 
of  my  sister's  consolation.  Her  love  for  that  child 
was  a  downright  worship.  The  maternal  instinct,  with 
which  she  overflowed,  there  found  its  natural  outlet. 
Her  gentleness,  her  unalterable  patience,  her  love  for 
everything  good  and  simple,  made  her  unspeakably 
tender  to  childhood.  It  was  a  sort  of  religion  with 
her,  and  one  which,  to  her  melancholy  nature,  had  an 
infinite  charm.  When  my  second  child,  a  girl,  whom 
we  lost  in  a  few  months,  came  into  the  world,  Henri- 
ette  told  me,  several  times  over,  that  the  little  one 
had  come  to  take  her  own  place  beside  me.  She 
loved  the  thought  of  death,  and  would  recur  to  it 
with  delight. 

"  You  will  see,  my  dear  ones,"  she  would  say,  "  the 


38  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

little  flower  we  have  lost  will  leave  a  sweet  perfume 
with  us."  And  the  memory  of  the  little  creature 
who  had  gone  was  long  held  sacred  by  her.  Shar- 
ing as  she  thus  did,  with  the  full  strength  of  her 
great  power  of  feeling,  in  all  our  joys  and  sorrows, 
she  ended  by  completely  identifying  herself  with  the 
new  life  I  had  brought  about  her.  I  count  the  fact 
of  having  realised  this  masterpiece  of  self-sacrifice 
and  simple  devotion  in  the  person  of  those  two 
women,  whose  lives  fate  linked  with  mine,  as  one 
of  the  greatest  moral  satisfactions  I  have  known. 
They  loved  each  other  with  a  very  deep  affection, 
and  I  have  the  consolation  at  this  moment  of  feel- 
ing the  sorrow  that  walks  beside  me  is  as  heavy  as 
my  own.  Each  had  her  own  separate  place  in  my 
existence,  and  that  without  division  or  exclusion. 
Each,  after  her  own  fashion,  was  everything  to  me. 
When,  a  few  days  before  her  death,  my  sister  had 
a  kind  of  presentiment  of  her  approaching  end,  she 
spoke  some  words  to  me  which  proved  that  all  her 
wounds  were  healed,  and  that  nothing  but  a  memory 
of  the  bitterness  of  bygone  days  remained. 

• 


IN  the  year  1860,  when  the  Emperor  offered  me 
a  scientific  mission  to  the  country  known  in  ancient 
times  as  Phoenicia,  my  sister  was  one  of  those  who 
pressed  me  most  strongly  to  accept.  In  politics  she 
was  a  sturdy  Liberal,  but  she  held  that  all  party 
feeling  should  be  set  aside  when  it  came  to  realising 
a  plan  which  in  itself  promised  good  fruit,  though  its 
sole  probable  reward  was  the  peril  encountered  in  its 
execution.  It  was  settled  from  the  first  that  she 
should  bear  me  company.  Accustomed  as  I  had 
grown  to  her  personal  care  and  her  invaluable  col- 
laboration in  all  my  work,  I  also  needed  her  in  this 
case  to  manage  the  expenditure  and  keep  the  ac- 
counts of  the  expedition.  This  duty  she  performed 
with  the  minutest  care,  and  I  was  able,  thanks  to 
her  assistance,  to  carry  on  a  very  complicated  under- 
taking during  a  period  extending  over  a  whole  year, 
without  ever  being  disturbed  for  a  single  moment  by 
material  questions.  Her  activity  was  the  wonder  of 
all  who  saw  it.  Without  her  help  I  certainly  could 
not  have  carried  through  my  self-imposed  task  —  too 

39 


40  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

elaborate  a  one,  perhaps  —  within  so  short  a  space 
of  time.  She  never  left  my  side.  Step  by  step  she 
followed  me  up  the  steepest  slopes  of  Lebanon  and 
across  the  wilderness  of  Jordan,  seeing  everything  I 
saw  myself.  If  I  had  died,  she  could  have  told  the 
story  of  my  travels  almost  as  well  as  I  could  have 
related  it  myself.  The  terrible  mountain  tracks,  the 
privation  inevitable  in  this  sort  of  exploring  expe- 
dition, never  checked  her.  A  thousand  times  I  felt 
my  heart  tremble  as  I  watched  her  swaying  on  the 
edge  of  some  precipice.  Her  steadiness  and  endur- 
ance on  horseback  were  surprising.  She  would  do 
eight  and  ten  hours'  journey  in  the  day.  Her  health, 
naturally  somewhat  frail,  withstood  the  strain  by  dint 
of  her  strong  will.  But  her  whole  nervous  system 
began  to  develop  an  excited  condition,  symptoms  of 
which  appeared  in  the  shape  of  violent  attacks  of 
neuralgia.  Twice  or  thrice,  in  the  midst  of  the  wil- 
derness, she  fell  into  a  state  of  suffering  which  terri- 
fied us.  Her  astonishing  courage  deceived  us  all. 
So  passionately  had  she  identified  herself  with  this 
investigation  of  mine,  that  she  was  resolved  nothing 
should  part  her  from  me  till  it  was  accomplished. 
And  the  journey  in  itself  was  a  source  of  keen  en- 
joyment to  her.  This  year,  in  fact,  was  the  only 
one  in  her  life  which  brought  her  no  actual  sorrow, 
and  it  was  almost  the  only  real  reward  she  ever 


HENRIETTE  RENAN  41 

knew.  Her  power  of  fresh  enjoyment  was  complete. 
She  took  a  childlike  delight  in  all  the  wonders  our 
new  existence  revealed  to  her.  Nothing  can  exceed 
the  charm  of  spring  and  autumn  in  Syria.  The 
perfumed  atmosphere  seems  to  inspire  every  living 
thing  with  its  own  buoyancy.  The  most  exquisite 
flowers,  magnificent  cyclamens  especially,  tuft  every 
rocky  crevice,  and  on  the  plains  lying  towards  Am- 
rit  and  Tortosa  the  horses'  feet  trample  a  thick  car- 
pet formed  of  our  loveliest  garden  blossoms.  The 
torrents  flowing  down  the  mountain-sides  contrast  de- 
liciously  with  the  merciless  sun  that  beats  upon  them. 
Our  first  halt  was  at  the  village  of  Amschit,  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour's  ride  from  Gebeil  (Byblos), 
founded  some  five-and-twenty  or  thirty  years  before 
by  the  rich  Maronite  chief,  Mikhael  Tobia.  Zakhia, 
MikhaeTs  heir,  rendered  our  stay  exceedingly  agree- 
able. He  gave  us  a  pretty  house  overlooking  Byblos 
and  the  sea.  The  gentle  manners  of  the  people, 
their  invariable  civility,  the  regard  they  formed  for 
us,  and  for  her  in  particular,  touched  us  deeply. 
She  was  always  glad  to  return  to  this  village,  and 
we  made  it  in  some  degree  our  headquarters  while 
in  the  Byblos  region.  The  village  of  Sarba,  near 
Djouni,  the  residence  of  a  kind  and  worthy  family 
of  the  name  of  Khadra,  well  known  to  all  French 
travellers  in  this  part  of  the  East,  also  became  a 


42  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

favourite  stopping-place  with  her.  She  delighted  in 
the  lovely  Bay  of  Kesrouan,  with  its  closely  dotted 
villages,  its  convents  perched  on  every  peak,  and  its 
mountains  running  sheer  down  into  the  transparent 
waves.  A  hymn  of  delight  seemed  to  rise  out  of 
her  soul  every  time  this  lovely  panorama  burst  upon 
us  as  we  came  out  amongst  the  rocks  towards  the 
north  on  our  way  down  from  Gebeil.  She  grew 
much  attached  to  the  Maronite  people  generally. 
A  visit  she  paid  to  the  convent  at  Bkerke,  where 
the  Patriarch  then  resided,  surrounded  by  bishops 
whose  habits  were  of  a  truly  Arcadian  simplicity, 
left  a  very  pleasant  impression  on  her  memory.  She 
conceived  the  greatest  dislike,  on  the  other  hand,  to 
the  small  European  tittle-tattle  of  Beyrout  society, 
and  to  the  stiffness  of  that  in  such  towns  as  Saida, 
where  the  Mussulman  type  of  life  predominated. 
The  wonderful  sights  she  witnessed  at  Tyre  de- 
lighted her.  She  was  literally  rocked  by  the  tempest 
in  the  lofty  summer-house  where  she  was  lodged. 
The  nomad  life,  always  so  fascinating  in  the  long- 
run,  had  taken  hold  upon  her.  Night  after  night 
my  wife  invented  some  fresh  pretext  to  prevent  her 
staying  in  her  tent  alone.  She  would  yield,  though 
always  with  something  of  a  struggle.  She  delighted  in 
the  atmosphere  of  close  familiarity,  shared  with  those 
she  loved,  amidst  that  spreading  wilderness  of  space. 


HENRIETTE  RENAN  43 

But  her  most  passionate  interest  was  claimed  by 
our  journey  in  Palestine.  Jerusalem,  with  its  unri- 
valled memories,  Naplousa  and  its  lovely  valley, 
Mount  Carmel,  carpeted  with  spring  flowers,  and  Gal- 
ilee above  all  —  that  earthly  paradise  laid  waste,  on 
which  the  Divine  breath  lingers  yet,  held  her  spell- 
bound for  six  enchanted  weeks. 

Starting  from  Tyre  and  from  Oum-el-Awamid,  we 
had  already  made  several  little  expeditions,  lasting 
six  or  eight  days  each,  into  those  ancient  possessions 
of  the  tribes  of  Asher  and  Naphtali,  where  such 
mighty  things  were  once  accomplished.  When  I  first 
showed  her  from  Kasyoun,  above  Lake  Huleh,  the 
whole  region  of  the  Upper  Jordan,  with  the  basin  of 
the  Lake  of  Gennesaret,  the  cradle  of  the  Christian 
faith,  far  away  in  the  distance,  she  thanked  me,  tell- 
ing me  that  sight  had  been  the  most  precious  joy 
her  life  had  known.  Far  above  that  narrow  senti- 
ment which  attaches  historical  interest  to  particular 
localities,  to  concrete  objects,  almost  invariably  apoc- 
ryphal in  their  origin,  she  always  looked  for  the 
spirit,  the  true  sense,  the  general  impression  left  by 
the  event.  Our  long  tours  in  that  splendid  country, 
with  Mount  Hermon  ever  in  our  view,  its  gorges 
marked  in  snowy  lines  against  the  azure  heavens, 
haunt  the  memory  like  dreams  of  some  other  world. 

In  the   month  of    July,    my  wife,   who   had    been 


44  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

with  us  since  January,  was  obliged  to  leave  us  at 
the  call  of  other  duties.  The  excavations  were  all 
finished,  the  French  army  had  evacuated  Syria.  We 
two  stayed  behind  to  superintend  the  removal  of  the 
objects  unearthed,  to  complete  our  exploration  of  the 
Upper  Lebanon,  and  to  make  preparation  for  a  final 
campaign  in  Cyprus  during  the  following  autumn. 
Bitterly  do  I  now  deplore  the  share  I  took  in  thus 
prolonging  our  stay  over  the  months  most  unhealthful 
to  Europeans  residing  in  Syria.  Our  last  journey  in 
the  Lebanon  tried  my  sister  very  much.  We  spent 
three  days  at  Maschnaka,  above  the  Adonis  river, 
sheltered  by  a  mud  hut.  The  perpetual  change  from 
chilly  valleys  to  burning  rocks,  the  bad  food,  the 
necessity  of  spending  the  nights  in  low-built  houses, 
where  one  had  either  to  keep  every  aperture  open  or 
to  stifle,  laid  the  seeds  of  that  nerve  pain  which  was 
so  soon  to  make  itself  apparent.  Leaving  the  deep 
valleys  of  Tannourin,  after  having  spent  the  night  at 
the  Convent  of  Mar-Yakoub,  on  one  of  the  abrupt- 
est  crags  in  that  vicinity,  we  entered  the  scorching 
region  of  Toula.  The  sudden  change  overwhelmed 
us.  Towards  eleven  o'clock,  in  the  village  of  Helta, 
she  was  seized  with  agonising  pain.  I  made  her 
rest  in  the  village  priest's  poor  hovel,  and  a  little 
farther  on  the  road,  while  I  was  collecting  some  in- 
scriptions, she  tried  to  snatch  some  sleep  within  an 


HENRIETTE  RENAN  45 

oratory.  But  the  native  women  would  not  let  her 
rest ;  they  kept  coming  to  look  at  her  and  touch  her. 
At  last  we  got  to  Toula.  There  two  days  passed  in 
hideous  suffering.  We  were  without  succour  of  any 
kind,  and  the  untutored  roughness  of  the  inhabitants 
increased  her  anguish.  Never  having  beheld  a  Euro- 
pean, they  swarmed  into  the  house,  tormenting  her 
after  the  most  unendurable  fashion  while  I  was  away 
prosecuting  my  researches.  As  soon  as  she  could 
sit  on  horseback,  we  went  as  far  as  Amschit,  where 
she  got  a  little  better.  But  her  left  eye  was  affected, 
and  at  times  she  suffered  from  diplopia. 

The  intense  heat  prevailing  all  along  the  coast, 
and  our  own  fatigued  condition,  made  me  resolve  on 
settling  down  at  Ghazir,  very  high  above  the  sea,  at 
the  far  end  of  the  Bay  of  Kesrouan.  We  took  leave 
of  the  worthy  denizens  of  Amschit  and  Gebeil.  The 
sun  was  setting  when  we  reached  the  mouth  of  the 
Adonis  river.  There  we  rested  for  a  while.  Though 
far  from  free  of  pain,  the  delicious  calm  of  that 
beautiful  spot  fell  upon  her  spirit,  and  she  had  an 
interval  of  quiet  cheerfulness.  We  climbed  the  moun- 
tain of  Ghazir  in  the  moonlight;  she  was  in  great 
delight,  and  as  we  left  the  burning  seashore  we 
fancied  all  the  suffering  we  had  known  there  had 
departed  from  us. 

Certainly   Ghazir  is  one  of    the  loveliest  spots  in 


46  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

the  whole  world.  The  valleys  around'  are  exquisitely 
green,  and  the  slopes  of  Aramoun,  a  little  above  it, 
are  more  beautiful  than  anything  I  saw  in  the  Leba- 
non. But  the  inhabitants,  corrupted  by  their  com- 
merce with  the  so-called  aristocratic  families  of  that 
region,  have  none  of  the  good  qualities  usually  found 
amongst  the  Maronites. 

We  secured  a  nice  little  house  with  a  pretty  arbour. 
Within  its  walls  we  enjoyed  a  few  days  of  most 
delightful  rest.  We  were  able  to  get  snow  from  the 
crevasses  of  the  upper  mountain.  Our  poor  fellow- 
travellers,  her  Arab  mare  and  my  mule  Sada,  cropped 
the  herbage  close  to  us.  She  suffered  much  during 
that  first  fortnight,  then  the  pain  quieted  down,  and 
God  granted  her  a  few  more  days  of  perfect  happi- 
ness before  she  left  this  world. 

The  memory  of  those  days  is  inexpressibly  precious 
to  me.  The  unavoidable  delay  connected  with  such 
work  as  we  were  occupied  in  winding  up  left  me 
much  leisure.  I  resolved  to  note  down  all  the 
thoughts  concerning  the  life  of  Jesus  which  had 
been  stirring  in  my  brain  since  my  sojourn  in  the 
Tyrian  country  and  my  journey  into  Palestine.  The 
personality  of  that  great  Founder  had  risen  very 
clearly  to  my  mind  as  I  perused  the  Gospels  in 
Galilee  itself.  Buried  in  the  deepest  conceivable  re- 
tirement, with  the  help  of  the  Gospels  and  of  Jose- 


HENRIETTE  RENAN  47 

phus,  I  wrote  a  "  Life  of  Jesus,"  carrying  the  story 
while  I  was  at  Ghazir  as  far  as  the  last  journey  to 
Jerusalem.  Exquisite  hours,  departed  all  too  quickly ! 
I  pray  eternity  may  be  as  sweet!  From  morning  till 
night  I  lived  intoxicated,  as  it  were,  with  the  idea 
unfolding  itself  before  my  mental  vision.  I  fell 
asleep  pursuing  it,  and  the  first  ray  of  sun  shooting 
above  the  mountain  revealed  it  to  me  yet  clearer, 
stronger,  than  before.  Henriette  was  the  daily  con- 
fidant of  the  progress  of  my  labour.  As  fast  as  I 
could  write  a  page  she  copied  it.  "  I  shall  love 
this  book,"  she  said,  "because  we  have  done  it  to- 
gether, first  of  all,  and  then  because  I  like  it  in 
itself." 

The  elevation  of  her  thoughts  had  never  struck  me 
more.  In  the  evening  we  used  to  walk  on  our  terrace 
under  the  stars.  Then  she  would  give  me  the  result 
of  her  reflections,  full  of  tact  and  wisdom.  Some  of 
them  were  absolute  revelations  to  me.  She  was  per- 
fectly happy,  and  this  was  certainly  the  most  blessed 
moment  in  her  life.  Our  intellectual  and  moral  com- 
munion had  never  been  so  intimate.  She  repeatedly 
told  me  those  days  had  been  a  paradise  to  her.  A 
gentle  mournfulness  of  tone  pervaded  everything  she 
said.  Her  physical  suffering  was  only  numbed,  and 
would  wake,  now  and  again,  as  though  in  sinister 
warning.  Then  she  would  complain  that  fate  was 


48  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

miserly,  and   grudged   her  the   few   hours   of   perfect 
bliss  it  had  ever  granted  her. 

Early  in  September  Ghazir  became  a  very  incon- 
venient place  of  residence  for  me,  in  view  of  the 
fact  that  the  exigencies  of  my  mission  called  me  to 
Beyrout.  We  reluctantly  bade  farewell  to  our  village 
home,  and  for  the  last  time  passed  down  that  beau- 
tiful road  beside  the  river  of  the  Dog,  which  had 
grown  so  familiar  to  us  during  the  year  just  gone  by. 
Though  the  heat  was  very  great,  we  spent  some 
pleasant  hours  at  Beyrout.  The  days  were  exhaust- 
ing, but  the  nights  delicious,  and  the  sight  of  Sannin 
bathed  in  heavenly  glory  by  the  rays  of  the  setting 
sun  was  a  nightly  feast  to  our  delighted  eyes.  My 
transport  operations  were  well-nigh  concluded.  The 
Cyprus  journey  was  all  that  remained  for  me  to  do. 
We  began  to  talk  of  our  return  to  France.  Already 
we  dreamt  of  pale  and  gentle  sunshine,  of  the  cool 
damp  Northern  autumn,  of  the  fresh  green  meadows 
beside  the  river  Oise,  which  we  had  trodden  at  the 
same  season  two  years  previously.  She  would  dwell 
with  delight  on  the  joy  of  clasping  our  little  Ary  and 
our  aged  mother  to  her  heart  once  more.  Now  and 
then  she  had  hours  of  sadness,  in  which  all  her  mem- 
ories of  bygone  days  seemed  inextricably  mingled ;  at 
such  moments  she  would  talk  about  my  father,  and 
dwell  upon  that  good  and  kindly  nature,  so  rich  in 


HENRIETTE  RENAN  49 

deep  and  tender  feeling.  Her  mood  had  never  struck 
me  as  more  noble  and  more  winning. 

On  Sunday,  September  15th,  Admiral  de  Barbier 
de  Tinan  informed  me  that  the  crew  of  the  Caton 
could  spare  a  week  for  a  fresh  effort  to  exhume  two 
great  sarcophagi  at  Gebeil,  the  removal  of  which  had 
at  first  been  deemed  impossible.  My  presence  at 
Gebeil  during  that  week  was  really  not  indispensable. 
It  would  have  quite  sufficed  if  I  had  gone  there  with 
the  Caton  to  furnish  certain  local  information,  and 
then  returned  overland  to  Beyrout.  But  I  knew  how 
much  she  dreaded  separations  of  this  kind.  And 
remembering  she  had  enjoyed  her  former  stay  at 
Amschit,  a  different  plan  occurred  to  me  —  that  we 
should  both  sail  on  the  Caton,  spend  the  week  at 
Amschit  and  return  in  the  same  manner. 

So  on  the  Monday  we  set  out.  She  had  been 
rather  unwell  the  previous  day,  but  the  sea  passage 
revived  her.  She  greatly  enjoyed  the  view  of  the 
Lebanon  in  all  its  summer  glory,  and  while  I  went 
with  the  captain  to  settle  all  the  details  concerning 
the  removal  of  the  sarcophagi,  she  rested  pleasantly 
on  board  the  ship.  In  the  evening,  after  the  sun 
had  set,  we  went  up  to  Amschit.  Our  good  friends 
there,  who  had  never  expected  to  see  us  again,  gave 
us  the  heartiest  of  welcomes,  which  delighted  her. 
We  spent  part  of  the  night,  after  we  had  dined,  on 


50  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

the  terrace  of  Zakhia's  house.  The  sky  looked  beau- 
tiful, and  I  reminded  her  of  that  passage  in  the 
Book  of  Job  wherein  the  aged  patriarch  boasts  as  a 
sign  of  rare  merit  —  "  That  his  mouth  had  never 
kissed  his  hand,  nor  his  heart  been  secretly  enticed, 
when  he  beheld  the  sun  when  it  shined,  or  the  moon 
walking  in  brightness."  The  whole  spirit  of  the 
ancient  Syrian  worship  seemed  to  rise  up  before  us. 
Byblos  lay  at  our  feet;  southward,  in  the  sacred 
region  of  the  Lebanon,  rose  the  strangely  jagged  out- 
line of  the  rocks  and  forest  of  Djebel-Mousa,  which 
legend  denotes  as  the  spot  where  Adonis  perished; 
the  sea,  curving  away  to  the  north,  towards  Botrys, 
seemed  to  hem  us  in  on  either  side.  That  was  the 
last  day  of  perfect  happiness  in  my  life.  Any  future 
joy  that  I  may  know  must  carry  me  back  to  my  past, 
and  recall  the  memory  of  her  who  cannot  share  my 
present. 

On  the  Tuesday  she  was  less  well;  and  yet  I  was 
not  alarmed.  Her  indisposition  seemed  a  mere  noth- 
ing compared  with  what  I  had  seen  her  suffer.  I 
had  set  to  work  again,  with  passionate  eagerness,  on 
my  "  Life  of  Jesus."  We  worked  all  day,  and  in 
the  evening  she  continued  in  good  spirits  as  we  sat 
on  the  terrace.  On  Wednesday  the  suffering  in- 
creased, and  I  took  upon  me  to  ask  the  ship's  sur- 
geon to  visit  her.  He  gave  me  no  reason  for  anxiety. 


HENRIETTE  RENAW  51 

On  the  Thursday  her  state  was  just  the  same.  But 
that  day  was  a  fatal  one  to  us,  for  I  was  struck  down 
by  sickness  in  my  turn.  I  had  carried  my  mission 
to  its  conclusion  without  any  serious  illness,  and,  by 
a  fell  chance,  the  memory  of  which  will  haunt  me 
like  a  nightmare  till  my  life's  end,  the  one  moment 
at  which  I  was  to  fail  was  that  in  which  I  might 
have  watched  over  her  last  agony.  On  that  Thurs- 
day morning  I  had  to  go  down  to  the  anchorage  at 
Gebeil  to  confer  with  the  captain.  Climbing  back  to 
Amschit,  I  felt  the  sun,  reverberating  from  the  scorch- 
ing rocks  upon  the  hill,  had  struck  me.  During  the 
afternoon  I  had  a  violent  attack  of  fever,  accom- 
panied by  sharp  neuralgic  pains.  My  sickness  was 
really  of  the  same  nature  as  that  which  was  killing 
my  poor  sister.  Clever  as  the  doctor  of  the  Caton 
was,  he  did  not  recognise  it.  The  pernicious  fevers 
of  the  Syrian  coast  present  characteristics  which 
none  but  medical  men  who  have  lived  in  the  coun- 
try can  understand.  Powerful  doses  of  sulphate  of 
quinine  might  have  saved  us  both,  even  at  that  point. 
In  the  evening  I  felt  my  senses  going.  I  warned  the 
doctor,  who,  blind  as  he  was  to  the  nature  of  our  com- 
plaint, attached  no  importance  to  the  fact,  and  left  us. 
Then,  like  a  terrible  vision,  arose  the  fear  of  what 
within  three  days  became  a  dread  reality.  I  shivered 
at  the  thought  of  the  risks  that  threatened  us  should 


S2  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

we  fall,  alone  and  unconscious,  into  the  hands  of  these 
worthy  folk,  utterly  devoid  of  intelligence,  and  with  the 
crudest  ideas  of  medical  care.  I  bade  farewell  to  life 
with  a  feeling  of  extremest  bitterness.  The  loss  of 
my  papers,  of  my  "  Life  of  Jesus  "  in  particular,  ap- 
peared to  me  utterly  inevitable.  We  had  a  terrible 
night;  but  my  poor  sister's  seems  to  have  been  less 
bad  than  mine,  for  I  remember  her  having  the 
strength  to  say  to  me  next  morning,  "Your  whole 
night  was  one  long  moan." 

The  Friday,  Saturday,  and  Sunday  are  like  the 
phases  of  a  painful  dream  to  me.  The  attack  which 
so  nearly  carried  me  off  on  the  Monday  had  a  sort 
of  retroactive  effect,  almost  completely  effacing  my 
recollection  of  the  three  preceding  days.  The  doctor, 
most  unluckily  for  us,  always  saw  us  in  our  easier 
moments,  and  thus  did  not  foresee  the  impending 
crisis.  I  still  worked,  but  I  felt  I  was  working  badly. 
I  had  reached  the  episode  of  the  Last  Supper  in  the 
story  of  the  Passion.  When  I  read  the  lines  over 
later  on,  they  struck  me  as  being  full  of  a  sort  of 
mysterious  sense  of  agitation.  My  mind  had  been 
revolving  in  a  perpetual  circle,  beating  wildly  like  the 
shaft  of  an  engine  out  of  gear.  Various  other  partic- 
ulars still  abide  with  me.  I  wrote  to  ask  the  Sisters 
of  Charity  at  Beyrout  to  send  me  quinine  wine,  which 
nobody  else  in  Syria  knew  how  to  make,  but  I  was 


HENRIETTE  REMAN  53 

conscious  my  letter  was  incoherent.  Neither  Henri- 
ette  nor  I  appear  to  have  had  a  very  clear  conception 
of  the  gravity  of  our  illness.  I  settled  to  depart  for 
France  on  the  ensuing  Thursday.  "Yes,  yes,  let  us 
start,"  she  said,  with  perfect  confidence.  "  Poor  me !  " 
she  added  another  time,  "I  feel  I  am  going  to  have 
a  great  deal  of  suffering."  On  one  of  those  two  days 
she  was  still  able,  towards  sunset,  to  move  out  of  one 
chamber  into  the  next.  She  lay  down  on  a  couch  in 
the  room  I  slept  and  generally  worked  in.  The  jalou- 
sies were  open,  and  our  eyes  fell  on  Djebel-Mousa. 
She  had  a  momentary  presentiment  of  the  end,  though 
not  of  such  a  closely  approaching  one.  Her  eyes  were 
wet  with  tears.  Her  pale  face,  worn  with  suffering, 
regained  a  little  colour  as  together  we  looked  back 
sadly  and  tenderly  over  her  past  life.  "I  will  make 
my  will,"  she  said.  "You  shall  be  my  heir;  I  have 
not  much  to  leave;  still  there  is  something.  I  want 
you  to  spend  my  savings  in  building  a  family  tomb. 
We  must  all  be  gathered  together,  and  lie  close  side 
by  side.  Little  Ernestine,  too,  must  be  brought  back 
to  us."  Then  she  made  a  mental  calculation,  pointing 
with  her  finger  to  indicate  the  interior  arrangement 
of  the  vault,  and  seemed  to  desire  it  should  be  large 
enough  for  twelve  people.  She  wept  as  she  spoke  of 
little  Ary  and  of  our  old  mother.  She  told  me  what 
I  was  to  give  her  niece.  She  pondered  over  some- 


54  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

thing  which  would  please  Corndlie,  and  pitched  on  a 
little  Italian  book,  the  "  Fioretti "  of  St.  Francis,  which 
had  been  given  to  her  by  M.  Berthelot.  "  I  have  loved 
you  very  dearly,"  she  added  then ;  "  sometimes  my  love 
has  caused  you  pain.  I  have  been  unjust,  exclusive; 
but  I  have  loved  you  as  people  do  not  love  now- 
a-days,  as  one  has  no  right  to  love,  perhaps."  I 
burst  into  tears.  I  spoke  of  our  return  home.  I  led 
her  mind  back  to  little  Ary,  knowing  how  closely  that 
thought  touched  her.  She  loved  to  dwell  on  it,  and 
on  every  incident  connected  with  her  tenderest  feel- 
ings. She  returned  again  to  the  beloved  memory  of 
our  father.  That  was  the  last  gleam  of  light  we  had. 
We  were  both  of  us  in  the  interval  between  two 
attacks  of  fever.  Her  last  was  coming  in  a  very  few 
hours.  Except  for  the  doctor's  short  visits  we  were 
quite  alone,  at  the  mercy  of  our  Arab  servants  and 
the  villagers;  all  the  other  members  of  the  mission 
had  started  homewards  or  were  busy  elsewhere.  I 
have  but  little  distinct  recollection  of  that  fatal  Sun- 
day, or  I  should  rather  say  that  others  have  revived 
the  memories  of  which  every  trace  had  been  oblit- 
erated. All  day  long  I  went  on  like  an  automaton 
to  which  some  outside  impulse  has  been  given.  I  can 
still  distinctly  recollect  the  impression  made  on  me  by 
seeing  the  peasants  going  to  Mass.  Generally,  when 
they  knew  we  were  going  too,  they  would  gather 


HENRIETTE  RENAN  55 

around  to  do  us  honour.  The  doctor  came  during 
the  morning.  It  was  settled  that  the  sailors  should 
come  up  early  next  day  before  dawn  with  a  cot  for 
my  sister,  and  that  the  Caton  should  take  us  back 
at  once  to  Beyrout.  Towards  mid-day  I  must  have 
worked  again  in  my  poor  sister's  room,  for  I  was 
told  afterwards  that  my  books  and  notes  were  found 
upon  her  floor,  scattered  about  the  mat  on  which  I 
usually  sat.  In  the  afternoon  she  grew  much  worse. 
I  wrote  to  the  doctor  to  hasten  up  at  once,  telling  him 
her  heart  seemed  threatened.  I  do  not  remember  writ- 
ing the  letter,  and  when  it  was  shown  me  some  days 
later,  it  woke  no  recollection  in  me.  Yet  I  was  able 
to  move  about,  for  our  servant,  Antoun,  told  me  I  had 
my  sister  moved  into  the  sitting-room  which  served  as 
my  bed-chamber — that  I  helped  to  carry  her,  and 
remained  with  her  a  considerable  time. 

We  may  have  bidden  each  other  farewell  for  all  I 
know.  She  may  have  spoken  some  precious  parting 
word  which  the  terrible  hand  of  fate  has  wiped  from 
the  tablet  of  my  brain.  Antoun  assured  me  she 
never  was  aware  that  she  was  dying,  but  he  was  so 
stupid,  and  knew  so  little  French,  that  he  may  not 
have  realised  what  passed  between  us. 

The  doctor  came  at  six  o'clock,  the  captain  with 
him.  Both  of  them  deemed  it  impossible  to  think  of 
moving  my  sister  to  Beyrout  next  day.  By  a  strange 


56  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

chance  my  attack  came  on  while  they  were  with  us. 
I  lost  consciousness  in  the  captain's  arms.  The  two 
gentlemen,  both  of  them  wise  and  upright  men, 
though  mistaken  up  till  that  moment  as  to  the  seri- 
ous nature  of  our  case,  took  counsel  together.  The 
doctor,  straightforwardly  admitting  his  own  inability 
to  treat  an  illness  the  progress  of  which  had  escaped 
his  control,  requested  the  captain  to  go  down  to  Bey- 
rout  and  return  at  once  with  fresh  medical  assist- 
ance. The  captain  acted  on  this  suggestion.  Only, 
with  a  respect  for  Turkish  pratique  which  other 
navies  do  not  observe  even  in  less  urgent  cases,  he 
did  not  start  till  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  By 
six  o'clock  he  was  at  Beyrout,  and  had  acquainted 
Admiral  Paris  with  our  condition.  With  his  usual 
extreme  courtesy  the  admiral  ordered  him  to  start 
back  as  soon  as  he  had  shipped  Dr.  Louvel,  the 
chief  surgeon  to  the  squadron,  and  Dr.  Suquet,  the 
French  sanitary  officer  at  Beyrout,  who  has  earned  a 
world-wide  reputation,  exceeding  that  of  any  other 
Frenchman,  by  his  profound  study  of  Syrian  fevers. 
By  half -past  ten  all  these  gentlemen  were  at  Amschit. 
Almost  at  the  same  moment  Dr.  Gaillardot  arrived, 
coming  overland.  Since  the  previous  evening  we  had 
both  been  lying  unconscious,  opposite  each  other,  in 
Zakhia's  big  sitting-room,  with  none  to  care  for  us 
but  Antoun.  Zakhia's  kind-hearted  family  had  gath- 


HENRIETTE  RENAN  57 

ered  round  us  weeping,  and  protecting  us  from  the 
local  priest,  a  sort  of  crack-brained  fellow  who  wanted 
to  insist  on  treating  us.  I  have  been  assured  that 
during  the  whole  of  this  period  my  sister  never  gave 
one  sign  of  consciousness. 

Dr.  Suquet,  to  whom  the  direction  of  the  treat- 
ment to  be  followed  was  naturally  confided,  soon  real- 
ised, alas !  that  she  was  beyond  human  help.  Every 
effort  to  create  reaction  failed.  She  could  not  swal- 
low the  sulphate  of  quinine,  large  doses  of  which  are 
the  supreme  remedy  for  these  terrible  attacks.  Oh ! 
can  it  be  that  if  the  new  treatment  had  begun  a  few 
hours  earlier  it  might  have  saved  her?  One  agonis- 
ing thought,  at  all  events,  will  never  leave  me.  If 
we  had  stayed  at  Beyrout,  the  attack  would  not  have 
been  escaped,  indeed,  but  in  all  probability  Dr. 
Suquet  would  have  been  called  on  in  time  to  over- 
come it. 

All  that  Monday  my  loving,  noble-hearted  sister 
lay  fading  away.  On  Tuesday,  September  24th,  at 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  she  died.  The  Maro- 
nite  priest,  who  was  sent  for  at  the  last  moment,  gave 
her  extreme  unction  according  to  the  rites  of  his 
Church.  Many  heartfelt  tears  were  shed  beside  her 
corpse.  But  oh!  my  God,  who  would  have  thought 
my  Henriette  would  have  passed  away  within  a 
couple  of  feet  of  where  I  was  without  my  being  able 


58  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

to  receive  her  farewell  sigh?  Yes;  but  for  the  fatal 
swoon  that  seized  me  on  the  Sunday  night,  I  do 
believe  my  kisses  and  the  sound  of  my  voice  would 
have  kept  life  in  her  for  a  few  hours  more,  long 
enough,  perhaps,  to  have  saved  her  in  the  end.  I 
cannot  persuade  myself  her  loss  of  consciousness 
was  so  utter  that  I  could  not  have  roused  her.  Once 
or  twice,  in  feverish  dreams,  a  terrible  doubt  has 
risen  up  before  me.  I  have  fancied  I  have  heard 
her  voice  calling  to  me  from  the  vault  where  she 
was  laid !  The  presence  of  French  doctors  at  her 
deathbed  of  course  disposes  of  this  horrible  supposi- 
tion. But  the  thought  that  she  was  waited  on  by 
strangers,  that  she  was  touched  by  menial  hands, 
that  I  could  not  even  follow  her  to  the  grave,  and 
let  my  tears  bear  witness  to  the  very  earth  how 
deeply  I  had  loved  her  —  that  if  her  sight  returned 
for  even  a  moment's  space  before  she  left  this  world, 
my  face  was  not  before  her  —  will  weigh  me  down  for 
ever,  and  poison  all  my  future  happiness.  If  she 
felt  herself  dying  without  knowing  me  at  her  side, 
if  she  realised  that  I  was  agonising  close  to  her, 
and  she  not  able  to  watch  over  me,  oh!  then  that 
angelic  creature  must  have  passed  away  with  a  hell 
of  anguish  in  her  heart!  Physical  consciousness 
is  so  infinitely  greater  than  its  appearance  or  than 
our  recollection  of  it,  that  I  find  it  hard  sometimes 


HENRIETTE  RENAN  59 

to    feel     perfectly    easy    in    my    mind     about    this 
matter. 

My  constitution,  less  exhausted  than  my  sister's, 
was  able  to  bear  the  tremendous  dose  of  quinine 
which  had  been  administered  to  me.  Towards  the 
Tuesday  morning,  about  an  hour  before  the  time  at 
which  my  beloved  passed  away,  I  began  to  recover 
my  senses.  A  proof  that  I  was  much  more  con- 
scious on  the  Sunday,  and  even  during  my  delirium, 
than  my  memory  of  that  time  would  indicate,  lies 
in  the  fact  that  my  first  question  was  an  inquiry 
after  my  sister's  health.  "  She  is  very  ill,"  they 
replied.  I  kept  on  repeating  the  same  question 
through  the  half-slumber  in  which  I  lay.  At  last 
they  answered  —  "  She  is  dead !  "  It  was  no  use 
trying  to  deceive  me,  for  they  were  getting  ready 
to  carry  me  to  Beyrout.  I  besought  them  to  let 
me  see  her.  They  absolutely  refused.  They  laid 
me  in  the  very  cot  which  was  to  have  been  used 
for  her.  I  was  completely  stunned.  The  fearful 
misfortune  that  had  befallen  me  hung  over  me  like 
some  hideous  dream.  I  was  devoured  with  agonising 
thirst.  I  thought  I  was  with  her,  as  in  a  burning 
vision,  at  Aphaca,  where  the  Adonis  river  rises, 
under  the  huge  walnut  trees  which  grow  above  the 
waterfall.  She  was  sitting  by  my  side  on  the  cool 
sward,  I  held  a  glass  of  icy  water  to  her  failing  lips, 


60  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

and  together  we  plunged  into  the  life-giving  spring, 
weeping,  and  borne  down  with  over-mastering  sad- 
ness. It  was  not  till  two  days  later  that  I  recovered 
full  consciousness,  and  that  my  disaster  broke  upon 
me  in  all  its  fearful  reality. 

Monsieur  Gaillardot  remained  behind  us  at  Amschit 
to  superintend  my  poor  sister's  funeral.  The  villa- 
gers, who  had  grown  much  attached  to  her,  followed 
her  bier.  There  was  no  possibility  of  embalming 
the  corpse;  some  temporary  resting-place  had  to  be 
found.  For  this  purpose  Zakhia  offered  the  tomb  of 
Mikhael  Tobia,  standing  at  the  end  of  the  village, 
near  a  pretty  chapel,  and  shaded  by  beautiful  palm- 
trees.  All  he  asked  was  that  when  the  remains  were 
removed,  an  inscription  should  commemorate  the  fact 
that  a  Frenchwoman's  body  had  rested  in  the  vault. 
She  rests  there  still.  I  shrink  from  the  idea  of  tak- 
ing her  from  the  beautiful  mountains  where  she  had 
been  so  happy,  from  the  midst  of  the  worthy  folk 
she  loved,  to  lay  her  in  one  of  those  dreary  modern 
cemeteries  she  held  in  such  deep  horror.  Some  day, 
of  course,  she  must  come  back  to  me,  but  who  can 
tell  what  corner  of  the  world  shall  hold  my  grave? 
Let  her  wait  for  me  then  under  the  palms  of  Am- 
schit, in  the  land  of  the  antique  mysteries,  by  sacred 
Byblos ! 

We  know  not  the  exact  relationship  between   great 


HENRIETTE  RENAN  61 

souls  and  the  principle  of  eternity.  But  if,  as  all 
things  lead  us  to  believe,  conscious  existence  is  but 
a  passing  communion  with  the  universe,  designed  to 
carry  us  more  or  less  close  to  the  divine  essence, 
surely  into  such  souls  as  hers  it  is  that  immortality  is 
breathed !  If  it  be  true  that  man  possess  the  power 
of  shaping  a  great  moral  personality  after  a  divine 
model,  not  of  his  choosing,  compact  in  equal  parts  of 
his  own  individuality  and  the  ideal  pattern,  absolutely 
instinct  with  life,  it  must  be  so.  Matter  is  not,  be- 
cause it  has  no  separate  existence.  The  atom  does 
not  live,  because  it  has  no  consciousness  of  life. 

The  soul  it  is  that  lives  when  it  has  left  a  faithful 
mark  on  the  eternal  history  of  goodness  and  of  truth. 
Was  this  destiny  ever  more  perfectly  accomplished 
than  in  my  sister's  person?  She  never  could  have 
developed  a  higher  degree  of  perfection  than  that 
she  had  attained  when  she  was  taken  from  us  in  all 
the  full  maturity  of  her  nature.  She  had  reached  the 
acme  of  the  virtuous  life.  Her  view  of  earthly  things 
could  never  have  been  broader  —  the  cup  of  her  de- 
votion and  her  love  was  full  to  overflowing. 

Ah!  what  she  ought  to  have  had  —  there  is  no 
gainsaying  it  —  is  a  happier  life.  I  had  dreamt  of 
all  sorts  of  trifling  sweet  delights  —  I  had  woven  a 
thousand  fancied  pleasures  for  her.  I  pictured  her 
in  her  old  age,  honoured  like  a  parent,  proud  of  me, 


62  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

resting  at  last  in  unalloyed  repose.  I  had  vowed  her 
good  and  noble  heart,  so  tender  it  was  apt  to  bleed, 
should  rest  at  last  in  calm  —  I  had  almost  said  in 
selfish  peace.  God  only  permitted  her  the  steepest, 
hardest  paths.  She  died  well-nigh  without  reward. 
The  harvest-hour,  wherein  men  sit  them  down  to  rest 
and  look  back  over  the  weariness  and  suffering  of 
bygone  days,  never  struck  for  her. 

To  say  truth,  she  never  gave  reward  a  thought. 
That  spirit  of  self-interest  which  so  often  mars  the 
devotion  inspired  by  positive  religious  beliefs,  and 
provokes  the  idea  that  virtue  is  only  practised  for 
the  sake  of  what  it  is  likely  to  produce,  had  no  place 
in  her  great  soul.  When  her  religious  faith  failed 
her,  her  faith  in  duty  never  flinched,  because  it  was 
the  echo  of  her  innate  nobility.  Virtue  was  no  result 
of  theory  in  her  case;  it  was  the  outcome  of  the 
unconscious  bent  of  all  her  nature.  She  did  good 
for  the  sake  of  doing  good,  and  not  to  earn  her 
ultimate  salvation.  She  loved  all  goodness  and  beauty 
without  any  of  that  calculating  spirit  which  seems  to 
say  to  God,  "If  heaven  and  hell  had  no  existence,  I 
would  not  love  Thee !  " 

But  God  will  not  permit  His  saints  to  see  cor- 
ruption. Oh,  heart  that  ever  nursed  a  flame  of 
tenderest  love!  Oh,  brain,  the  seat  of  thought  so 
exquisitely  pure !  Oh,  lovely  eyes,  shining  with  tender 


HENRIETTE  RENAN  63 

light !  Oh,  long  and  dainty  hand,  so  often  clasped 
in  mine!  —  the  thought  that  you  are  fallen  away  to 
dust  thrills  me  with  horror! 

But  sublunary  things  are  all  but  types  and  shadows. 
The  true  eternal  part  of  every  living  soul  is  that 
which  binds  it  to  eternity.  Man's  immortality  is  in 
God's  memory.  And  there  my  Henriette,  in  ever- 
lasting radiance  and  eternal  sinlessness,  lives,  with  a 
life  a  thousand  times  more  real  than  when  she 
wrestled,  in  her  feeble  strength,  to  create  her  spirit- 
ual personality,  and,  cast  upon  a  world  which  never 
knew  how  to  understand  her,  strove  obstinately  to 
attain  the  perfect  state. 

Let  us  hold  fast  her  memory  as  a  precious  demon- 
stration of  those  eternal  truths  whereof  every  virtuous 
life  contributes  proof. 

Personally  I  have  never  doubted  the  reality  of  the 
Moral  Law.  But  now  I  see  clearly  that  all  the  logic 
of  the  universal  system  must  come  to  naught  if  such 
lives  as  hers  were  nothing  but  a  delusion  and  a 
snare. 


LETTERS    OF 
ERNEST  AND   HENRIETTE   RENAN 

1842-1845 


MADEMOISELLE  RENAN,  care  of  Comte  Andre  Zamoy* 
sky,  Palfi  Palace,  Josef splatz,  Vienna,  Austria. 

ISSY,  March  23,  1842; 

At  last,  dearest  Henriette,  I  have  your  longed-for 
letter.  For  more  than  a  month  my  mother  and  Alain 
have  been  assuring  me  I  should  get  it  shortly.  Day 
by  day  I  have  been  on  the  tiptoe  of  expectation, 
watching  every  post,  and  never  dreaming  such  an 
unlucky  incident  had  retarded  my  happiness.  This 
expectation,  long  drawn  out,  is  responsible  for  my 
long  delay  in  writing  you,  for  I  did  not  want  to  do 
that  till  I  had  your  letter.  I  have  it  at  last,  dear 
Henriette,  and  I'm  happy!  I  hasten  to  reply,  and 
one  of  the  long  afternoons  we  have  here  shall  be 
spent  in  talking  with  you.  How  long  it  is  since  I 
have  had  that  pleasure! 

More  separation,  my  dear  sister !  Vienna  was  not 
far  enough  away!  The  whole  of  Europe  must  lie 
betwixt  us,  it  seems !  I  do  trust  this  is  the  end,  and 
that  you  will  not  go  beyond  Poland,  at  all  events. 

67 


68  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

Nothing  smaller  in  area  than  Russia  could  suffice, 
indeed,  to  calm  my  fears  and  set  a  limit  to  your 
wanderings.  Dismay  fills  my  imagination  when  it 
dwells  on  the  immense  space  that  parts  us.  If  any 
one  had  told  us,  when  we  were  living  in  the  depths 
of  Brittany,  that  a  very  few  years  would  see  you 
buried  in  the  wilds  of  Poland,  we  should  have  held 
him  a  wild  dreamer.  Yet  he  would  have  told  us 
truly.  A  strange  thing,  life!  I  cannot  describe  all 
the  thoughts  I  think,  especially  when  I  go  back  to 
the  earliest  period  my  memory  reaches,  to  the  time 
when  we  hid  our  poverty  at  Lannion,  to  the  not  less 
unhappy  days  of  our  struggles  at  Treguier,  when  we 
shuddered  at  the  very  idea  of  a  separation  of  a 
hundred  and  twenty  leagues.  And  now  behold  us 
parted,  not  by  a  province  or  two  even,  but  by  king- 
doms and  by  peoples.  Such  is  human  life!  And 
should  it  all  end  in  happiness  (which,  in  our  case, 
means  reunion),  we  shall  be  fortunate  indeed.  If 
this  does  not  come  to  pass,  'twill  not  be  by  any 
fault  of  yours,  my  dear  good  Henriette.  And  I  have 
the  sweetest,  steadiest  hope  of  it.  Well,  I  know  you 
will  never  endure  to  lead  an  idle,  nerveless,  spring- 
less  life.  Ah!  no;  I  know  you  far  too  well  to  think 
that  could  ever  be  your  taste,  nor,  for  the  matter  of 
that,  mine  either.  That  is  not  what  I  mean.  But  I 
do  believe  all  else  in  life  would  be  tame  and  empty 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  69 

and  hollow  without  that  charm  we  find  in  friendship, 
and  that  never  is  so  solid  and  steadfast  as  between 
those  who  are  bound  by  ties  of  blood.  This,  then, 
dear  Henriette,  is  the  end  I  love  to  fancy  to  all 
our  labours.  The  future  again !  How  incorrigible 
is  human  nature!  We  never  think  of  the  present 
—  we  are  always  longing  for  some  coming  joy! 
Well,  after  all,  we  are  not  far  wrong.  This  present 
of  ours  is  so  sad  and  wretched,  we  do  well  to 
lighten  the  burden,  at  all  events,  by  some  glimpse 
of  a  future  we  always  fancy  brightly  coloured.  Ah! 
how  right  Pascal  was  when  he  said,  "  Nous  ne  vivons 
pas,  mais  nous  esp^rons  de  vivre !  "  Hope  is  our  life, 
indeed  —  our  only  life. 

I  have  barely  escaped  falling  into  a  philosophical 
disquisition,  which  might  have  been  better  placed. 
But  I  like  talking  over  all  my  occupations  with  you, 
and  at  this  moment  philosophy  is  my  study  —  indeed, 
I  may  say,  my  favourite  one.  Thanks  to  the  preju- 
dice accumulated  during  a  course  of  rhetoric,  I 
expected,  when  I  began  philosophy,  to  find  it  a 
tiresome  and  difficult  study,  bristling  with  abstract 
propositions,  and  as  barbarous  in  doctrine  as  it  often 
is  in  expression.  But  I  soon  got  rid  of  this  mistaken 
idea,  and,  far  from  regretting  the  exchange,  I  would 
not  go  back  now  to  the  declamations  of  rhetoric  for 
anything  on  earth.  It  represents  the  science  of  words 


70  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

as  opposed  to  that  of  things.  Imagination,  which  in 
rhetoric  is  all  in  all,  does  indeed  serve  but  little  in 
philosophy,  where  reason  reigns  supreme.  But  surely 
the  man  who  prefers  the  pleasures  of  the  imagination 
to  those  of  reason  is  no  judge  of  true  intellectual  en- 
joyment. Yet  we  must  not  expect  philosophy  to  offer 
the  absolute  certainties  which  distinguish  mathematics, 
for  instance.  The  number  of  systems  of  philosophy 
in  existence  prove  this:  where  certainty  is,  variety  of 
system  is  non-existent.  Some  portions  of  philosophy 
are  as  inflexible  indeed,  and  as  severely  reasoned  out, 
as  a  mathematical  problem.  Yet  even  here  the  domain 
of  hypothesis  is  rarely  quitted.  But  these  same  hy- 
potheses are  deeply  interesting,  and  frequently  seem 
to  touch  truth  as  nearly  as  our  weak  reason  is  per- 
mitted to  approach  it.  The  proper  function  of  philos- 
ophy, indeed,  is  not  so  much  to  give  very  definite 
notions  as  to  scatter  a  cloud  of  prejudices.  It  is 
astonishing,  once  one  applies  one's  mind  to  it,  to 
realise  that  you  have  hitherto  been  the  sport  of  half 
a  hundred  erroneous  ideas,  rooted  in  general  opinion, 
custom,  or  education.  This  gives  the  deathblow  to 
one's  ideal  conception  of  the  beauty  of  things.  They 
appear  as  they  really  are,  and  one  is  very  much 
astounded  to  find  matters  one  believed  decided  once 
for  all  ranked  as  unsettled  problems.  Realising  these 
numberless  mistakes,  one's  first  inclination  is  to  uni- 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  71 

versal  doubt.  But  that  is  false  reasoning  again,  and 
the  German  philosophers,  who  are  by  no  means  over- 
inclined  to  certainty,  do  not  go  so  far.  Kant,  even, 
the  father  of  modern  sceptics,  holds  back  on  that 
head.  It  is  this  craving  for  truth,  which  philosophy 
engenders,  that  makes  mathematical  study  so  fascinat- 
ing. There,  at  least,  truth  is  to  be  found,  absolute, 
indispensable.  And  this  study  is  the  essential  com- 
plement of  a  course  of  philosophy.  All  my  own 
taste  for  it,  which  three  years  of  literary  study  had 
not  utterly  quenched,  has  now  revived.  All  I  have 
had  to  do  is,  so  to  speak,  to  stir  the  embers.  This 
year  we  are  on  pure  mathematics ;  next  year  we  shall 
apply  them  in  mechanics,  physical  science,  and  so 
forth.  As  to  my  German,  I  am  the  merest  beginner, 
and,  in  spite  of  all  you  say,  it  will  be  long,  I  doubt, 
before  you  find  anything  of  a  rival  in  me.  Up  till 
now,  I  have  rarely  been  able  to  give  any  considerable 
time  to  it.  As  soon  as  I  began  to  study  philosophy, 
I  perceived  I  should  do  no  more  than  wisely  if  I  gave 
my  undivided  attention  to  so  all-important  a  subject. 
Now  I  have  mastered  the  key  of  that  position,  I  shall 
be  able  to  apply  myself  to  it  still  more  fully.  We 
really  have  great  facilities  here  for  learning  living 
languages;  for  the  varied  nationalities  of  those 
amongst  whom  we  live  give  us  opportunities  of  talk- 
ing with  them  in  their  mother-tongues  and  forming 


72  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

our  pronunciation  —  always  the  most  difficult  thing  to 
acquire  in  a  modern  language  —  on  that  of  natives. 

Having  thus  lengthily  explained  the  object  of  my 
studies,  dearest  Henriette,  I  must  say  a  word  con- 
cerning my  new  abiding-place,  of  which  your  recol- 
lection of  St.  Nicolas  can  give  you  no  idea.  The 
two  houses  are  radically  different.  While  St.  Nico- 
las, as  a  residence,  was  cramped,  confined,  and 
dreary,  Issy  is  spacious,  pleasant,  and  cheerful. 
While  at  St.  Nicolas  the  differences  between  master 
and  pupil  were  strongly  marked,  here  they  are  im- 
perceptible. Study  here  is  as  serious  as  it  was 
flimsy  there.  But  there  are  certain  advantages  on 
the  other  side.  That  personal  care  of  each  pupil 
which  was  so  scrupulous  at  St.  Nicolas  is  quite  neg- 
lected here.  Each  one  has  to  do  for  himself,  both 
at  his  work  and  for  his  material  wants.  And  so  it 
should  be,  as  it  seems  to  me,  for  these  pupils  are 
not  children,  as  we  were  at  St.  Nicolas.  There  is 
no  special  mark  here  whereby  masters  and  principals 
are  distinguished  from  students.  Equality  reigns, 
not  amongst  these  latter  only,  but  between  them  and 
their  instructors.  This  makes  life  freer,  less  con- 
strained. As  to  the  pupils  themselves,  they  are 
more  numerous,  and  more  serious  too  as  to  their 
work,  than  at  St.  Nicolas.  And  some  of  them  have 
remarkable  talent  to  boot.  This  indeed  is  a  strong 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  73 

point  at  St.  Sulpice.  As  it  is  a  seminary  for  the 
whole  of  France,  and  not  for  Paris  only,  each 
bishop  sends  his  strongest  men,  to  secure  the  best 
teaching  for  them.  Thus  the  cleverness  of  the  ma- 
jority is  above  the  average,  and  narrow-mindedness 
is  quite  the  exception  —  a  wonderful  thing  in  any 
seminary. 

Your  dear  visits  are  the  one  thing  lacking  in  my 
life.  It  is  a  great  trial  to  me,  I  confess,  not  to 
have  one  soul  to  whom  I  can  say  a  word  about  my 
loved  ones.  And  your  letters  are  my  greatest  happi- 
ness. Has  Alain  mentioned  his  plan  of  living  with 
our  dear  mother  to  you?  He  dropped  a  word  about 
it  when  I  saw  him  at  the  end  of  the  holidays;  since 
then  I  have  heard  nothing  of  it.  I  should  be  very 
glad,  for  my  part,  if  it  were  carried  out,  for  our 
poor  mother  really  leads  a  sad  and  lonely  life. 

Thank  you,  dear  Henriette,  for  your  loving  care 
of  me.  Your  bank-note  will  come  in  very  oppor- 
tunely, for  though  our  dear  mother  sent  me  a  remit- 
tance not  long  ago,  it  was  exhausted  very  soon,  as  I 
had  to  get  a  new  cassock,  &c.  Yours  will  enable 
me  to  supply  my  German  library,  the  scantiness  of 
which  partly  paralyses  my  progress  in  that  tongue. 
I  shall  owe  you  everything,  poor  Henriette!  You 
have  been  a  second  mother  to  me,  and  all  my  heart 
is  given  to  you  and  my  mother  and  Alain.  Often 


74  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

have  I  reflected  what  a  blessing  it  is  for  us  all,  who 
are  fated  to  be  so  far  apart,  that  we  love  each  other 
so  fondly.  The  pain  of  separation  is  diminished  a 
thousand-fold  by  our  affection.  Do  endeavour  to 
reconcile  our  mother  to  the  idea  of  your  leaving 
Vienna,  when  you  write  to  her.  Try  to  make  the 
distance  seem  less.  I  saw,  during  my  holidays,  how 
the  thought  of  all  your  journeys  affected  her.  We 
must  spare  her  all  the  anxiety  we  can.  She  really 
needs  repose  after  the  many  storms  of  her  past  life. 
Farewell,  dear  Henriette!  My  thoughts  of  you 
are  my  dearest  joy.  My  pleasure  in  your  letter  is 
dashed  by  the  feeling  that  many  months  may  roll  by 
before  another  reaches  me.  Now  you  know  my 
address,  pray  give  me  that  happiness  a  little  oftener 
—  directly,  indirectly,  I  care  not  how,  so  long  as  I 
have  your  letters!  Farewell  once  more!  You  know 
how  much  I  love  you.  Always,  dearest,  best  of  sis- 
ters, will  you  be  my  joy  and  happiness.  —  Your 

beloved  brother, 

E.  RENAN. 

N.B. — You  can  write  me  quite  freely.  Our  letters 
are  never  opened,  and  we  get  them  as  soon  as  they 
arrive. 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  75 


II 


MDLLE.   RENAN,  care  of  M.  le  Comte  Andrt  Zamoysky, 
ZwierzinieC)  Poland?-  via  Cracow  and  Zawichost. 

ISSY,  September  15,  1842. 

The  distance  between  us  is  so  heartbreaking,  that 
I  dare  not  complain  of  the  rarity  of  your  letters,  my 
dear  Henriette.  Yet  it  tries  me  to  have  nothing  but 
indirect  tidings  of  you,  through  my  mother  and  Alain.2 
They  suffice  indeed  to  subdue  the  anxiety  I  might 
otherwise  feel,  but  they  cannot  satisfy  that  yearning 
for  direct  intercourse  with  you  which  has  become  a 
part  of  my  being. 

I  long  for  volumes,  and  I  have  scarcely  had  a  word. 
If  we  were  less  devoted  at  heart,  we  should  be  almost 
strangers  to  each  other.  But  that,  my  dearest  Henri- 
ette, is  a  danger  we  need  never  fear. 

You  probably  know  I  am  not  going  to  spend  my 
holidays  in  Brittany  this  year.  The  fact  of  not  seeing 
my  mother  and  the  friends  I  am  so  sincerely  attached 
to  has  caused  me  some  regret  indeed,  but  that  must 
give  way  to  the  real  advantages  of  putting  off  my 

1  As  the  reader  will  have  gathered  from  the  perusal  of  "  My  Sister 
Henriette,"  Mdlle.  Renan  occupied  a  post  as  governess  in  Poland.     Her 
correspondence  with  her  brother  was  subject  to  protracted  delays. 

2  Ernest  Kenan's  elder  brother. 

75 


76  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

journey  till  next  season.  For  as  our  finances  do  not 
permit  of  our  making  it  annual,  I  would  much  rather 
delay  it  for  another  twelvemonth.  I  shall  then  have 
brought  both  my  course  of  philosophy  and  my  resi- 
dence at  Issy  to  a  close,  and  the  trip  into  Brittany  will 
be  a  very  pleasant  change  before  I  enter  the  seminary 
in  Paris.  Besides,  this  last  year  has  flown  so  quickly 
that  I  feel  as  if  I  had  only  just  got  back;  my  impres- 
sions of  Brittany  have  never  seemed  fresher.  And 
then,  my  kind  Henriette,  how  should  I  make  any  com- 
plaint when  I  think  of  you,  and  the  courage  with  which 
you  bear  your  exile,  far  longer  and  more  trying  than 
my  own,  which  is  none  at  all,  indeed,  except  in  so  far 
as  that  I  am  parted  from  the  objects  of  my  affection. 
To  wind  up,  Issy  is  a  spot  where  a  man  may  spend  a 
very  pleasant  holiday.  The  situation  is  charming,  the 
park  is  perfectly  delightful.  It  offers  a  quiet  and 
repose  most  admirably  suited  to  my  tastes.  I  can 
work  and  think  in  peace.  There  is  good  society  in 
the  place  —  some  very  pleasant  company  indeed — and 
one  is  free  as  air.  In  fact,  I  am  so  comfortable  here, 
I  find  it  hard  to  move,  and  during  this  past  year  I  have 
sometimes  been  three  or  four  months  without  leaving 
the  house.  The  walks  are  all  so  long,  and  so  uninter- 
esting to  me  since  your  departure,  that  my  courage 
fails  me  each  time  I  ought  to  go  out  of  doors,  and  I 
only  pay  the  most  indispensable  of  visits. 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  77 

We  have  just  ended  our  first  yearly  course  of  phi- 
losophy and  mathematics.  It  is  curious  what  a  revela- 
tion these  grave  studies  are  to  a  mind  just  escaped 
from  the  comparative  frivolities  of  a  course  of  rhetoric. 
One  makes  more  progress  in  a  year  than  the  human 
race  does  in  the  space  of  a  century.  Things  strike  one 
in  such  a  different  way.  So  many  errors  and  preju- 
dices appear  where  one  had  looked  to  find  nothing 
but  truth,  that  one  is  half  tempted  to  embrace  a  uni- 
versal scepticism.  That  is  the  first  impression  caused 
by  a  study  of  philosophy.  The  uncertainty  of  human 
knowledge,  and  the  instability  of  all  opinions  founded 
on  human  reasoning  alone,  strike  one  deeply.  If 
nature  allowed  it,  and  if  it  were  not  as  absurd  to 
reject  all  truth  as  to  embrace  all  error,  one  would  be 
inclined  to  universal  doubt.  This  is  but  a  negative 
result  indeed,  and  we  should  have  to  moderate  our 
praise  of  philosophy  were  its  sole  effect  to  be  the 
weakening  of  every  conviction.  But  it  has  others, 
infinitely  precious,  especially  when  studied  in  connec- 
tion with  mathematics  and  physics,  from  which  it  never 
should  be  parted.  Thus  taken,  it  creates  a  power  of 
closest  reasoning,  it  makes  us  look  at  all  things  in 
simplicity  and  truth  (a  thing  as  rare  as  it  is  difficult) ; 
and  above  all,  it  teaches  us  not  to  live  blind  amongst 
the  marvels  that  surround  us,  more  even  in  the  intel- 
lectual than  in  the  physical  order  of  things,  and  which 


78  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

too  generally  pass  unnoticed.  This  again  —  the  power 
of  appreciating  the  wonderful,  wherever  apparent  — 
is  one  of  the  most  striking  results  of  the  study  of 
philosophy.  If  it  does  not  solve  every  problem,  at  all 
events  it  teaches  us  to  recognise  their  existence.  I 
like  the  methods  of  your  German  thinkers,  in  spite  of 
their  being  somewhat  sceptical  and  pantheistic.  If 
ever  you  go  to  Konigsberg,  I  pray  you  make  a  pil- 
grimage in  my  name  to  the  tomb  of  Kant. 

This  taste  of  mine  for  meditation,  joined  to  the 
perfect  peace  and  intellectual  freedom  I  enjoy  in  this 
retreat,  where  no  special  form  of  occupation  is  im- 
posed on  me,  has  enabled  me  to  think  a  little  about 
myself  and  my  own  future.  I  must  admit  I  had  not 
given  the  subject  much  consideration  previously,  con- 
tent to  follow  whatever  outside  impulse  was  im- 
pressed on  me.  I  have  begun  at  last  to  examine  it 
attentively.  The  first  thing  to  strike  me  was  the 
huge  influence  the  earliest  actions  of  life  have  on 
one's  future,  coupled  with  the  thoughtlessness  with 
which  they  are  performed.  Then  all  you  have  so 
often  told  me,  but  which  I  never  understood  before, 
came  back  to  me.  My  first  fear  was  lest  I  might 
have  done  something  foolhardy  already,  and  then  I 
rejoiced  at  having  as  yet  taken  no  decisive  or  irrevo- 
cable step.  But  after  ripe  reflection,  after  having 
studied  my  own  tastes  and  nature  thoroughly,  after 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  79 

having  closely  considered  the  character  of  the  profes- 
sion I  propose  to  enter,  with  the  various  careers  it 
opens  up  to  'me,  and  the  probable  characteristics  of 
my  future  colleagues,  having  again  carefully  weighed 
my  own  convictions  (which  might  well  be  somewhat 
shaken  by  my  first  attempt  at  philosophical  study, 
so  apt  to  heat  the  brain),  I  have  come  to  believe  I 
have  no  reason  so  far  to  regret  the  action  I  have 
taken,  and  if  I  had  the  power  to  choose  afresh,  I 
would  repeat  it. 

I  will  not  say  I  have  not  discovered  enormous 
drawbacks  on  every  point  I  have  referred  to ;  I  will 
even  acknowledge  to  the  sister  from  whom  I  have 
no  secrets  that  I  can  never  accept  many  ideas  which 
general  opinion  classes  as  peculiarly  pertaining  to  the 
state  in  question ;  that  if  I  were  to  be  doomed  to 
live  with  certain  of  my  colleagues,  whose  frivolity, 
duplicity,  and  crawling  toadyism  is  well  known  to 
me,  I  would  far  rather  choose  to  spend  my  days  cut 
off  from  all  mankind.  And  I  have  realised  that  I 
shall  be  submitting  myself  to  an  authority  which  is 
apt  to  be  suspicious,  yet  to  which  I  will  never  bend, 
if  in  so  doing  I  commit  an  act  of  meanness.  But  I 
perceived  these  same  enormous  drawbacks  elsewhere, 
allied  moreover  to  a  thousand  others  more  worthy  of 
the  name  of  downright  impracticability  than  of  mere 
disadvantage,  and  no  other  condition  of  life,  it  seemed 


8o  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

to  me,  would  give  me  greater  facilities  for  following 
my  natural  bent.  My  great  end  and  object,  this 
many  a  day,  has  been  a  life  of  retirement,  freedom, 
and  independence,  not  devoid  of  usefulness  —  a  life, 
in  other  words,  of  laborious  study.  I  believe  I  have 
made  certain  of  the  fact  that  I  am  quite  unfitted  for 
what  is  vulgarly  called  the  world,  that  is  to  say,  for 
life  in  clubs  and  drawing-rooms.  All  the  qualities 
I  have  not  are  indispensable  for  that,  and  none  of 
those  I  have  would  serve  me  in  it.  I  have  no  taste 
for  it  besides ;  I  was  not  born  for  trifling  and  for 
foolery,  and  the  world,  if  so  it  calls  itself,  seems  to 
me  full  of  them. 

It  is  not  the  fervour  of  religious  zeal  which  makes 
me  say  this.  Oh  no,  indeed !  I  have  no  weakness 
in  that  direction  either.  Philosophy  has  a  wonderful 
power  of  moderating  such  excesses,  and  the  only 
result  to  be  dreaded  from  its  study  is  too  violent  a 
reaction.  I  hated  such  extremes  in  former  days  on 
purely  religious  grounds.  I  hate  them  now  in  the 
light  of  reason  and  philosophy,  and  also,  I  confess,  by 
my  own  instinct.  A  life  devoid  of  thought  and  med- 
itation, without  a  moment  given  to  self-examination, 
is  utterly  incompatible  with  the  deepest  needs  of  my 
soul.  This  granted,  I  must  look  on  any  career  which 
does  not  admit  of  study  and  quiet  thought  as  closed 
to  me.  This  simplifies  the  whole  question  and  makes 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  81 

selection  easy.  Moreover,  the  sublimity  of  the  sacer- 
dotal functions,  when  looked  on  from  the  highest  and 
truest  point  of  view,  has  always  struck  me.  Even  if 
Christianity  were  but  a  dream,  the  priesthood  would 
always  be  a  type  of  the  divine.  I  know,  indeed,  that, 
great  as  it  is  in  itself,  it  has  been  belittled  by  its 
human  representatives.  They  must  needs  drag  it 
down  to  their  own  level.  I  can  even  understand, 
even  while  holding  it  as  mere  prejudice,  the  scorn 
with  which  some  people  view  it.  But  that  contempt 
only  concerns  themselves,  and  it  is  evident  that  a 
priesthood  which  is  by  necessity  numerically  strong 
is  bound  to  number  a  certain  proportion  of  mean  and 
vile  natures  in  its  ranks.  These  must  degrade  it  in 
the  sight  of  those  who,  in  their  superficial  view  of 
life,  instead  of  looking  at  the  matter  in  its  truest 
light,  see  only  the  man  where  they  ought  to  see  his 
ministry.  Besides,  as  aforesaid,  that  is  only  their 
opinion,  and  I  believe  myself,  by  God's  mercy,  to  be 
above  opinion. 

I  have  now  given  you  the  result  of  my  ponder- 
ings  on  this  important  question  with  that  complete 
frankness  which  you  have  always  found  in  me.  Not 
that  I  have  ceased  thinking  about  it.  I  am  still  try- 
ing, on  the  contrary,  to  clear  and  settle  all  my  ideas 
on  the  subject;  but  this  is  the  most  positive  con- 
clusion I  have  as  yet  arrived  at. 


82  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

I  will  beg  you  not  to  mention  my  doubts  to  our 
mother.  If  they  should  have  no  other  outcome  than 
to  confirm  me  in  my  past  intentions,  she  had  better 
remain  in  ignorance  of  them.  They  would  make  her 
anxious.  But  never  think  she  has  influenced  my  de- 
cision on  this  head.  No  one  could  desire  more  per- 
fect freedom  than  that  she  has  left  me  in. 

I  had  a  letter  from  that  dear  mother  of  ours  the 
day  before  yesterday.  She  seems  well  and  cheerful. 
The  day  before  that  I  had  one  from  Alain,  equally 
satisfactory,  though  complaining  of  the  avalanche  of 
work  which  leaves  him  without  a  moment  to  himself. 
When  will  that  poor  fellow  enjoy  a  little  peace  and 
quietness  ?  I  hope  soon  to  hear  from  you.  I  am 
rather  afraid  this  letter  may  not  reach  you.  I  always 
pay  the  postage  as  far  as  Huninguen.  Perhaps  I  ought 
to  send  the  letters  by  another  frontier?  Tell  me  in 
your  next. 

Farewell,  my  dear  good  Henriette.  If  the  whole 
universe  lay  between  us,  I  could  not  love  you  more, 
nor  think  of  you  more  constantly.  I  do  not  try  to 
express  my  affection ;  you  know  it  better  than  I  can 
tell  it  you.  —  Your  brother  and  your  friend, 

E.  RENAN. 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  83 


III 

October  30,  1842. 

It  is  about  twelve  days  since  your  letter  of  I5th 
September  reached  me,  my  beloved  Ernest.  May  the 
joy  these  lines  of  mine  give  you,  equal  that  yours 
caused  me !  Yes,  dearest  one ;  a  continent  lies  be- 
twixt us,  and  judging  by  the  sparseness  of  our  letters, 
a  careless  onlooker  might  think  that  in  our  case,  too, 
separation  had  induced  indifference.  We  in  our  hearts 
feel  such  a  disaster  cannot  reach  us,  for  you  can  never 
doubt  my  passionate  tenderness  and  my  boundless  de- 
votion, wherever  I  may  be.  My  poor  boy !  I  live  on 
my  memories.  But  the  thought  of  those  I  love  is 
ever  with  me.  What  could  turn  me  from  it  ?  .  .  . 

Ever  since  I  received  your  letter,  my  Ernest,  I  have 
been  pondering  it  deeply.  I  cannot  help  shuddering  as 
I  read  of  the  questions  which  agitate  your  mind,  and 
realise  that  you  are  absorbed  by  these  solemn  thoughts 
at  an  age  when  life  is  generally  so  frivolous  and  care- 
less. Yet,  in  spite  of  my  tender  love  for  you,  I  cannot 
but  rejoice  to  see  you  take  such  a  serious  view  of 
matters  which  so  many  others  judge  lightly,  or  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  passions  of  their  own  hearts.  Yes, 
my  dear  friend,  those  first  steps  in  life  do  often  have 
an  irreparable  influence  on  all  its  future,  as  I  deeply 


84  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

felt  when  I  used  so  constantly  to  appeal  to  your  con- 
sideration of  that  truth.  People  take  the  fancies  of  a 
boy  of  fourteen  for  serious  tastes,  without  considering 
that  a  youth  of  sixteen  and  a  man  of  thirty  are  two 
well-nigh  totally  different  beings. 

My  darling  Ernest,  I  cannot  say  it  too  often  —  I 
ask  it  with  well-nigh  maternal  fondness  —  do  not  bind 
yourself  by  any  hasty  action.  Wait  till  you  can  thor- 
oughly understand  them  before  you  accept  engage- 
ments which  must  determine  your  whole  existence. 
I  might,  perhaps,  my  dear,  lay  stress  on  the  influence 
over  you  which  my  affection  and  the  experience  of 
my  much-tried  life  should  give  me,  but  I  will  refrain, 
because  I  have  faith  in  your  own  reason,  and  I  will 
always  be  content  to  appeal  to  that.  You  say  truly, 
my  Ernest,  you  were  not  born  to  lead  a  careless  life, 
and  I  should  agree  with  you  that  the  one  you  dream 
of  would  be  the  best,  according  to  your  tastes,  if  it 
were  capable  of  realisation.  Better  than  any  other 
woman,  perhaps,  this  sister  of  yours  can  comprehend 
the  charm  of  a  life  of  retirement,  free  and  independent, 
laborious,  and,  above  all  things,  useful.  But  where  are 
you  to  find  it  ?  Such  independence,  I  believe,  if  not 
impossible,  is  at  all  events  granted  to  very  few  in  any 
state  of  life.  In  my  own  person  I  have  never  known 
it.  How  then  can  I  dare  to  hope  it  will  be  your  por- 
tion in  a  society  based  on  the  hierarchical  principle, 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  85 

and  ruled,  as  you  rightly  discern,  by  an  authority  which 
is  apt  to  be  suspicious  ? 

We  must  not  deceive  ourselves.  Authority  of  a 
kind  exists  in  every  career.  But  surely  in  this  par- 
ticular one  it  is  to  be  specially  dreaded,  since  you  are 
bound  under  it  by  an  irrevocable  oath. 

I  only  suggest  this  to  you  as  a  question,  leaving  you 
entire  liberty  of  action  and  power  of  decision.  To  it  I 
will  add  another  proceeding  from  it.  Is  an  ecclesiastic 
a  free  agent  ?  Is  he  not  forced  to  follow  the  direc- 
tion of  his  superiors  ?  I  will  not  contest  what  you 
say  about  the  dignity  of  the  office.  Truly,  if  all  who 
entered  it  took  your  view,  nothing  could  be  greater, 
more  worthy  of  a  noble  nature,  than  to  devote  one's 
life  to  softening  sorrow,  to  preaching  and  practising 
the  sublime  truths  of  the  Gospel.  I  will  only  add 
this  one  word  to  your  own  reflections.  You  suffer 
now,  my  Ernest,  because  you  see  personal  interest  and 
ambition  where  your  pure  and  upright  soul  had  dreamt 
of  finding  nothing  but  self-sacrifice  and  devotion ;  you 
have  realised  that  many  of  those  who  seem  vowed  to 
their  great  mission  are  very  far  from  understanding  it, 
or  being  worthy  of  it  in  practice.  But  will  you  be 
suffered  to  choose  the  way  you  would  desire  to  follow  ? 
Is  there  not  a  certain  indicated  path  from  which  you 
will  not  be  allowed  to  swerve  ?  Are  not  custom  and 
the  majority  stronger  than  the  minority  and  duty  ? 


86  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

Once  more  I  say  it,  dear  brother,  I  only  suggest  these 
questions  to  you ;  may  your  reason  and  your  conscience 
help  you  to  solve  them.  I  have  had  much  experience 
in  life ;  I  love  you  with  all  the  strength  of  a  devoted 
heart,  and  yet  I  shrink  from  giving  any  direct  advice 
in  this  particular.  If  it  had  rested  with  me  to  guide 
your  choice  of  a  career,  I  should  not  have  been  con- 
tent to  leave  you  perfectly  free  while  you  were  still  a 
mere  child.  I  should  have  thought  it  right  to  hold 
out  for  a  long  time  before  yielding  to  your  inclination. 
I  take  a  different  line  now,  because  I  believe  you  to 
be  sensible  beyond  your  years,  and  because  I  feel 
your  decision  must  be  yours  alone,  uninfluenced  by 
any  other  opinion.  But  that  is  an  additional  motive 
for  my  entreating  you  not  to  judge  hastily  in  a  matter 
of  so  great  importance.  Wait  till  you  have  reached 
man's  estate,  and  are  in  a  position  to  gauge  what  you 
reject  and  what  you  accept.  Even  should  you  persist 
in  your  present  opinions,  some  experience  of  life  will, 
anyhow,  be  necessary  to  you  before  you  undertake  to 
lead  others  through  it.  How  can  a  young  man  of 
four  or  five  and  twenty,  who  has  never  quitted  his 
sch«l,astic  seclusion,  be  capable  of  guiding  and  support- 
ing people  who  are  constantly  involved  in  struggles  of 
every  kind? 

Let  no  consideration  of  family  feeling  stand  in  your 
way.      I   beseech   you,   as   a   personal   favour,  not  to 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  87 

risk  the  whole  of  your  life's  happiness  to  soothe  the 
qualms  of  your  own  kind  heart.  Has  not  the  con- 
solation of  all  my  labour  been  the  thought  that  it 
might  serve  my  dear  one  —  the  child  of  my  adoption 
—  my  beloved  Ernest?  One  day,  if  I  am  spared, 
your  turn  will  come,  if  indeed  there  can  ever  be  any 
question  of  repaying  a  debt  to  one  we  love. 

Make  yourself  perfectly  easy  as  to  my  secrecy  as 
regards  our  mother.  I  feel  how  vitally  important 
that  is.  You  know  that,  short  of  actual  dissimulation, 
I  am  inclined  to  keep  her  in  ignorance  of  anything 
likely  to  make  her  uneasy.  Her  peace  of  mind  is 
the  chief  object  of  my  life.  Tell  me  your  whole 
thought  always,  and  be  sure  it  will  never  go  beyond 
me.  Write  to  me  oftener,  I  entreat  you.  I  need  to 
read  your  heart  to  feel  once  more,  and  always,  that 
I  am  your  closest  friend.  Sometimes,  doubtless,  as 
to-day,  my  answers  may  repeat  things  I  have  already 
told  you  over  and  over  again,  but  that  will  be  because 
they  so  preoccupy  my  thoughts.  My  dearest  child, 
remember,  whatever  befalls  you,  you  have  a  sister 
to  share  your  every  feeling,  whose  dearest  and  closest 
attachment  is  to  you.  Take  anything  I  say  as  being 
devoid  of  every  personal  feeling,  and  solely  dictated 
by  the  tenderest  interest  in  you,  and  the  deepest 
desire  to  see  you  happy.  Happy !  .  .  .  can  that  be, 
in  this  troubled  and  sorrowful  world?  And,  without 


88  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

reckoning  the  blows  of  fate  and  of  our  fellow-men, 
is  not  one's  own  heart  a  bottomless  spring  of  rest- 
lessness and  misery  ? 

What  you  tell  me  of  your  liking  for  the  German 
philosophers  pleases  but  does  not  surprise  me.  Ger- 
many is  the  classic  home  of  quiet  reverie  and  meta- 
physical argument.  The  other  European  nations  will 
find  it  hard  to  bring  their  schools  of  philosophy  to 
the  level  reached  by  the  German  thinkers.  The  con- 
templative turn  of  the  Teutonic  mind,  the  quiet  habits 
of  the  national  life,  the  very  climate,  all  tend  to  de- 
velop that  leisurely  mode  of  thought  which  is  part  of 
the  North  German  character,  and  one  of  the  greatest 
enjoyments  known  to  its  possessors.  The  French 
mind,  quick  as  it  is,  and  fascinating,  and  prompt  at 
grasping  an  idea,  is  too  volatile,  generally  speaking, 
to  be  profoundly  philosophic.  The  Englishman  is 
cold  and  calculating,  submitting  everything  to  the 
chilliest  argument.  But  the  German,  who  carries  his 
native  simplicity  and  good-nature  everywhere,  even 
into  the  most  elevated  questions,  allows  himself  to 
feel  and  think  and  grow  poetic  over  everything.  If 
you  prosecute  your  studies  in  the  tongue  of  Kant 
and  Hegel,  of  Goethe  and  Schiller,  you  will  dis- 
cover many  delightful  charms  in  its  rich  and  varied 
literature.  I  can  only  lay  hold  on  driblets  of  its 
wealth,  but  even  that  little  has  often  given  me  great 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  89 

pleasure.  Unluckily,  instead  of  making  progress,  I 
have  lost  ground  since  coming  to  Poland.  We  live 
in  a  desert,  where  masters  are  not  to  be  had,  and 
working  alone,  I  find  myself  checked  at  every  step. 
Study,  dear  Ernest,  helps  one  to  forget  many  a  vexa- 
tion. By  its  means  one  lives  in  a  world  of  fancy, 
which,  whatever  it  be,  is  always  superior  to  the  reality. 
The  less  I  am  able  to  enjoy  it,  the  more  I  appreciate 
its  quiet  delights. 

I  spent  the  month  of  August  and  part  of  Septem- 
ber at  Warsaw,  about  sixty  leagues  from  this  place. 
We  have  only  been  back  about  a  month.  The  only 
way  to  form  an  idea  of  the  country  I  inhabit  is  to 
fancy  huge  monotonous  sandy  plains,  which  would 
make  you  think  yourself  in  Arabia  or  in  Africa,  but 
for  the  endless  forests  of  birch  and  pine  which  break 
them  up,  and  recall  one's  close  proximity  to  northern 
latitudes.  And  indeed  the  climate  does  not  permit 
you  to  forget  it.  It  has  been  cold  already,  as  cold 
as  it  would  be  in  Paris  in  late  December.  I  saw 
snow  falling  as  I  passed  through  Galicia  on  the  3Oth 
of  April,  and  on  the  I4th  of  October,  again,  walking 
on  the  river-bank  at  midday,  I  found  icicles.  Spring, 
summer,  and  autumn  are  here  crowded  into  a  space 
of  five  months.  All  the  rest  is  winter. 

We  are  to  spend  the  one  we  are  just  entering 
upon  in  this  solitude,  of  which  nothing  in  France 


90  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

can  give  the  slightest  conception.  The  house  is  a 
very  fine  one,  surrounded  by  huge  forests,  and  here 
we  live,  cut  off  from  the  whole  world.  I  should  be 
indifferent  to  that  if  all  correspondence  were  not  so 
slow  and  difficult.  It  is  not  the  want  of  local  news 
that  I  regret,  but  news  of  my  beloved  and  distant 
home.  Some  of  my  letters  come  fairly  quickly,  but 
others  are  delayed,  arrive  open.  .  .  . 

You  see,  dear  Ernest,  that  my  love  of  work  and 
sedentary  tastes  are  a  blessing  to  me  here.  What 
could  I  find  outside  them?  The  Polish  peasant  is 
the  most  poverty-stricken,  brutish  creature  you  can 
conceive  of.  Two-thirds  of  the  town  population  are 
Jews,  filthy  and  loathsome  creatures,  living  in  a  state 
of  abjectness  which  exceeds  all  imagination.  Nowhere 
is  the  spirit  of  fanaticism  and  religious  hatred  carried 
further  than  in  this  country,  nowhere  are  the  pas- 
sions of  men  more  often  cloaked  under  the  name  of 
godliness.  Jew-beating  is  a  good  deed  in  a  Christian. 
To  rob  the  Christian  is  the  sole  aim  and  object  of 
the  Jew.  Nor  is  this  all.  The  Christian  sects  are 
not  one  whit  more  tolerant  of  each  other,  and  on 
every  hand  you  see  men  hating  each  other  in  the 
name  of  Him  whose  teaching  was  all  charity  and 
peace.  "  Father,  forgive  them :  they  know  not  what 
they  do." 

I   had  a  letter  yesterday  from   our  mother,  dated 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  91 

22nd  September.  She  seems  well  and  easy  in  her 
mind.  I  sent  her  a  sum  of  money  from  Warsaw,  out 
of  which  I  asked  her  to  send  you  a  hundred  and 
fifty  francs  to  begin  your  winter  with.  But  I  begged 
her  not  to  stint  herself,  and  if  she  has  not  sent  you 
the  money  I  will  arrange  to  let  you  have  it  other- 
wise. Tell  me  frankly  whether  she  has  or  not,  and 
do  not  mention  it  to  any  one  else.  Be  quite  easy, 
my  dear  child;  I  can  manage  it  all.  I  have  very 
few  personal  expenses.  Though  I  have  to  live  in  a 
world  which  you  justly  call  vain  and  frivolous,  I  take 
my  simple  tastes  there  with  me.  I  cannot  think  I 
acquire  greater  merit  by  wearing  a  smarter  gown. 
Farewell,  my  dear  Ernest !  I  find  it  hard  to  end  my 
letter.  I  have  cramped  my  writing,  and  filled  up  all 
the  corners  of  my  paper,  so  as  to  have  more  space 
to  write  on.  Remember  me  and  love  me,  and  never 
doubt  my  unchangeable  affection. 

Farewell!   in  deepest  tenderness,  again  farewell! 


92  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 


IV 


MDLLE.  RENAN,  care  of  M.  le  Comte  Andrt  Zamoysky, 
Zwierziniec,  Zawichost,  via  Cracow,  Poland. 

ISSY,  January  17,  1843. 

I  have  been  talking  to  you,  as  it  were,  my  dear- 
est Henriette,  ever  since  your  last  letter  reached  me. 
The  boundless  affection  it  breathes  is  very  precious 
to  my  soul,  and  the  wise  and  true  considerations  you 
suggest  are  the  constant  subject  of  my  thoughts.  I 
cannot  tell  you  all  the  contrary  feelings  and  conflict- 
ing desires  its  repeated  perusal  has  aroused  within 
me.  I  had  long  since  begun  to  look  seriously  at 
things  I  had  scarcely  glanced  at,  had  even  shrunk 
from  closely  examining  previously.  Your  letter  has 
plunged  me  yet  deeper  into  solemn  thought.  The 
picture  you  draw  of  the  innumerable  difficulties  to 
which  my  choice  of  the  priesthood  would  expose  me 
is  no  more  than  what  my  own  imagination  had 
traced.  A  distrustful  and  often  bigoted  authority, 
an  indissoluble  vow,  the  obligation  (if  indeed  it  is 
one)  to  follow  beaten  tracks  even  if  they  be  tortuous, 
the  frequent  necessity  of  calling  those  whom  one  is 
driven  to  despise  by  the  name  of  brother  and  col- 
league—  all  this  had  occurred  to  me,  magnified  even 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  93 

by  the  shock  to  my  imagination  of  discovering 
obstacles  where  I  had  anticipated  none.  The  singu- 
lar agreement  of  your  ideas  with  the  impression 
which  had  taken  hold  of  me  has  struck  me  deeply, 
and  makes  me  fear  it  is  only  too  correct.  I  have 
often  wished  some  decisive  blow  might  fall  from  one 
side  or  the  other  to  end  my  painful  doubts.  And 
oftener  still  I  have  rejoiced  to  think  my  liberty  — 
the  most  precious  thing  we  have,  and  for  that  very 
reason  the  hardest  to  preserve  —  is  still  my  own. 

In  considering  the  great  question  which  fills  all 
my  gravest  thoughts,  I  always  lay  it  down  as  a 
principle  that  every  man  desirous  of  knowing  to 
what  estate  he  is  called  must  seek  the  solution  of 
that  problem,  the  most  important  and  the  most  neg- 
lected in  existence,  in  the  study  of  his  own  nature. 
Its  true  indications  are  to  be  found  in  the  bent  and 
inclinations  of  each  individual,  and  I  believe  the 
reason  so  few  men  fall  into  their  proper  place  is 
that  there  are  so  few  who  know  themselves  thor- 
oughly. Well,  one  point  alone,  I  repeat,  has  been 
made  clear  by  my  inquiry  —  an  enduring  and  exclu- 
sive taste  for  a  life  of  quiet  and  retirement,  of  study 
and  reflection.  All  the  ordinary  occupations  of  man- 
kind are  dull  and  insipid  to  me,  their  pleasures 
would  be  my  boredom,  the  motives  which  govern 
them  in  their  different  states  of  life  simply  disgust 


94  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

me.  Hence  I  conclude  without  hesitation  that  I  am 
fit  for  none  of  them.  Even  the  teaching  profes- 
sion, though  better  suited  to  my  sedentary  and  stu- 
dious tastes,  is  repugnant  to  me,  on  account  of  the 
manoeuvres  necessary  to  getting  above  the  dust  of 
elementary  instruction.  But,  you  will  say,  does  the 
ecclesiastical  state  offer  you  greater  facilities  for  fol- 
lowing your  favourite  bent  ?  Alas !  my  dear  Henri- 
ette,  I  say  it  again,  I  do  not  mince  the  matter;  my 
view  of  things  has  been  and  is  too  close  a  one  for 
me  to  have  any  illusion.  That  would  be  unpardon- 
able henceforward,  for  it  would  manifestly  arise  from 
my  own  thoughtlessness.  But  what  else  can  I  do  ? 
Any  career  full  of  exterior  occupations  runs  counter 
to  my  tastes.  There  is  no  time  for  self-communion, 
for  reflection;  one  is  a  perfect  stranger  to  one's  own 
self.  A  completely  private  life,  if  I  may  so  express 
it,  would  be  my  delight;  but  that  it  seems  to  me 
stained  with  selfishness,  I  should  indeed  live  to  my- 
self, but  also  for  myself  alone.  And  besides,  could  I 
endure  the  thought  of  being  dependent  on  those  I 
love?  But  the  priesthood  unites  every  advantage  of 
such  a  life  without  any  of  its  drawbacks.  The  priest 
is  the  guardian  of  wisdom  and  counsel,  he  is  a  man 
of  study  and  of  meditation,  and  with  it  all  he  is  the 
servant  of  his  brethren. 

This   happy   mixture   of   publicity   and   privacy,    of 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  95 

solitude  for  one's  own  sake  and  sacrifice  for  that  of 
others,  would  be  my  beau  ideal  of  a  happy  and  com- 
pletely rounded  life.  Why  should  it  be  disturbed  by 
human  fault?  though  that  indeed  must  be  expected. 
All  that  is  fairest  and  purest  changes  and  undergoes 
corruption  in  its  passage  through  the  hands  of  men. 
What  is  greater  and  more  beneficent  than  religion  ? 
and  what  more  baleful  and  more  mean  as  practised 
by  the  human  race,  which  uses  it  as  the  instrument 
of  its  passions,  and  drags  it  down  to  their  mean 
level  ?  What  can  be  more  sublime  than  the  sacerdo- 
tal office  ?  yet  what  more  vile  when  looked  at  in 
the  person  of  those  who  exercise  its  functions  in  a 
shameful  spirit  of  self-interest?  But  he  who  seeks 
the  highest  and  noblest  truth  must  acquire  the  habit 
of  raising  himself  above  the  superficial  view,  must 
put  aside  all  contemplation  of  individual  men,  and 
look  into  the  heart  of  things. 

The  men  around  me  (I  speak  of  the  principals  of 
this  house)  would  indeed  be  very  likely  to  prepos- 
sess me  favourably,  did  I  not  remind  myself  how  few 
there  are  like  them.  The  seminaries  of  St.  Sulpice 
and  of  Issy  are  under  a  congregation  of  priests  inde- 
pendent of  episcopal  authority,  and  who  have  always 
been  remarkable  for  the  moderation  of  their  views. 
M.  Cousin  has  just  published  a  book  in  which  he 
gives  them  well-deserved  praise.  The  resemblance 


96  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

I  notice  between  my  own  aspirations  and  those  of 
our  Superior  has  given  me  great  confidence  in  him. 
I  have  even  gone  so  far  as  to  touch  on  the  subject 
now  engaging  our  attention,  under  the  reserve,  of 
course,  which  can  never  be  dropped  outside  one's 
own  family.  I  have  told  him  frankly,  "  Sir,  I  con- 
fess I  should  be  glad  not  to  have  to  give  any  one 
an  account  of  my  actions.  A  life  of  freedom  and 
independence  is  what  would  suit  me  best."  "Alack! 
dear  friend,"  he  answered,  "where  are  you  to  find 
it?"  He  seemed  to  say,  "I  too  have  sought  it,  and 
I  have  sought  in  vain."  I  recognise  the  fact  that,  in 
a  century  like  ours,  he  only  who  commands  is  free. 
That  thought  alone  should  suffice  to  inspire  me  with 
ambition.  And  then  there  is  a  reflection  which  often 
occurs  to  me,  and  which  consoles  me.  Every  man 
has  one  certain  refuge,  to  withdraw  into  himself, 
and  in  the  enjoyment  of  his  own  internal  resources 
to  indemnify  himself  for  his  exterior  servitude.  The 
Author  of  our  being  conferred  an  inestimable  bene- 
fit on  us  in  that  internal  liberty  of  ours,  safe  from 
all  external  constraint,  in  the  case  at  least  of  those 
who  know  how  to  preserve  it.  For  how  very  few, 
again,  enjoy  this  blessing !  If  I  were  making  this 
inquiry  coldly  and  without  any  instinctive  bias,  it 
would  not  cause  me  so  much  pain.  But  it  is  an  un- 
speakable grief  to  me  to  think  how  much  of  my 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  97 

poor  mother's  happiness  depends  on  it.  This  will 
not  influence  me,  for  my  conscience  forbids  it;  but 
I  have  to  gather  all  my  strength  together  to  prevent 
it.  For  I  assure  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart, 
I  would  willingly  be  unhappy  all  my  Me  sooner  than 
give  her  one  hour  of  sorrow. 

Go  on  talking  to  me,  dearest  Henriette,  in  fullest 
frankness.  Tell  me  your  whole  thought,  and  fear 
no  indiscretion.  You  can  send  your  letters  direct  to 
me;  they  are  never  opened.  And  besides,  we  are 
allowed  to  go  and  fetch  them  from  the  porter  at 
post-time.  I  send  you  this  one  through  Alain.  The 
prepayment  of  the  postage  to  the  frontier  is  too 
complicated  a  business  for  the  mind  of  the  servant 
to  whom  I  have  to  confide  it.  I  have  the  greatest 
trouble  in  making  him  take  it  in,  and  still  greater 
fear  that  he  will  fail  in  carrying  it  out. 

The  routine  studies  of  philosophy  and  physics 
which  occupy  me  this  year  still  have  their  old 
attraction,  and  are  a  real  support  to  me.  All  you 
say  in  your  letter  about  the  charm  of  study  is 
delightfully  true,  and  I  verify  it  every  day.  Our 
professor  of  physics  is  a  man  of  first-class  merit. 
His  digressions  on  the  history  of  science  and  its  true 
spirit  are  deeply  interesting.  As  to  our  professor  of 
philosophy,  he  is  a  novice,  but  day  by  day  I  grow 
more  convinced  that  the  mediocrity  of  its  professor 


98  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

is  no  drawback  in  that  department  of  study.  To 
learn  philosophy  well,  you  must  practically  do  your 
own  reasoning.  I  am  now  reading,  with  extreme 
enjoyment,  the  philosophical  works  of  Malebranche, 
undoubtedly  the  finest  thinker  and  the  most  merci- 
less logician  that  ever  existed.  I  find  a  double  satis- 
faction in  them.  Malebranche  certainly  was  a  bold 
thinker,  and  yet  he  was  a  priest,  nay,  more,  a 
member  of  a  religious  congregation,  and  he  lived  in 
peace  at  an  epoch  when  the  secular  arm  and  the 
spirit  of  the  age  united  to  give  ecclesiastical  author- 
ity even  greater  pride  and  power  than  it  now  pos- 
sesses. So  man's  own  weight  inclines  him  on  the 
side  of  hope. 

Space  fails  me,  dear  kind  sister,  and  I  tremble  at 
the  thought  that  even  within  a  month  this  letter 
may  not  have  reached  you,  and  that  several  may 
elapse  before  I  can  receive  an  answer. 

I  entreat  you  to  let  me  hear  as  soon  as  possible. 
Farewell,  beloved  Henriette ;  my  chief  happiness  is  in 
my  trust  in  you.  Your  affection  is  my  greatest  joy; 
try  to  imagine,  then,  how  passionately  I  return  it. 

E.  RENAN. 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  99 


March  12,  1843. 

MY  ERNEST,  —  Your  last  letter  broke  upon  my 
solitude  about  a  fortnight  ago.  As  no  doubt  of  my 
tender  affection  can,  I  hope,  enter  your  heart,  I  will 
not  repeat  that  the  reception  of  any  proof  of  your 
regard  is  one  of  the  liveliest  joys  that  can  be 
granted  me.  Yes!  the  thought  of  possessing  one 
steady  affection,  amidst  a  life  so  full  of  instability 
and  uncertainty,  is  sweet  indeed. 

Well,  brother  mine,  on  that  happiness,  at  all 
events,  the  only  one  I  have  to  give  you,  you  may 
always  reckon  confidence  in  my  tried  and  faithful 
love.  Think  sometimes  of  that  deep  devotion  which 
so  often  gives  me  strength,  and  of  which  I  would 
fain  convince  you  utterly.  Would  I  could  share 
more  directly  all  that  which  finds  so  sure  an  echo  in 
my  thought,  that  which  is  ever  in  my  heart!  Poor 
boy !  How  bitterly,  as  I  read  your  letter,  did  I  feel 
the  hardship  of  our  separation,  now  that  both  heart 
and  soul  in  you  are  crying  out  for  sympathy  and 
support. 

Let  me  come  back,  my  well-beloved,  to  the  ideas 
your  letter  to  me  expresses.  You  are  perfectly  right 
to  say  the  taste  and  inclination  of  each  man  are  the 


ioo  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

proper  basis  of  any  decision  as  to  his  ultimate  fate. 
This  is  an  evident  truth,  from  which  every  one  must 
deduce  the  same  natural  conclusion  —  that  what 
would  be  happiness  to  some  must  often  be  a  source 
of  misery  to  others.  When  I  constantly  repeat  that 
your  resolution  must  be  solely  yours,  I  apply  this 
principle  to  what  is  dearest  to  me  on  all  this  earth 
—  to  your  peace,  to  your  whole  future,  my  poor 
child.  Yet  be  sure  of  this,  anxious  as  I  am  that 
your  decision  should  be  absolutely  free,  I  am  just 
as  resolved  to  tell  you  my  opinions  and  my  fears 
without  exception.  I  have  never  thought  of  forcing 
them  upon  you;  I  never  shall.  I  desire  merely  to 
call  your  attention  to  the  points  which  strike  me, 
leaving  you  the  most  perfect  liberty  of  action  as 
regards  taking  my  advice.  Let  this,  I  beg,  be 
clearly  understood  between  us.  Yes,  beloved  friend, 
a  life  of  solitude,  of  devotion  to  others,  of  complete 
independence,  would  certainly  be  the  dream  of  every 
generous  heart.  Unhappily  there  is  no  such  life  on 
earth.  Independence  itself,  that  foremost  of  all 
good  things,  is  but  a  brilliant  figment  of  the  fancy, 
and  the  Superior  who  has  gained  your  confidence 
was  very  right  to  tell  you,  "  Alas !  where  will  you 
find  it?"  How  often  have  I,  like  yourself,  longed 
for  it  above  all  things  ?  How  often,  in  a  splendid 
room,  or  before  some  sumptuous  table,  I  have  cried 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERN&ST  ioi 

out  in  my  heart,  "  O  God !  give  me  a  crust  of  bread, 
and  peace  and  freedom."  Vain  longings,  which 
many  another  has  nursed  as  hopelessly,  which  so 
very  few  are  destined  to  attain.  I  agree  with  you 
that  we  are  happy  to  possess  some  faculties  which 
no  man  can  coerce,  and  in  the  enjoyment  of  which 
we  forget  many  an  injustice;  but  believe  me,  my 
Ernest,  I  can  assure  you  out  of  my  own  experience 
that  it  is  only  after  many  a  struggle  that  our  inter- 
nal liberty  can  be  secured  from  all  external  interfer- 
ence, and  it  is  very  hard  to  convince  our  paymasters 
that  there  are  certain  points  whereon  one  owes  no 
account  save  to  God  and  one's  own  conscience. 

These  are  painful  truths  to  tell,  more  painful  still 
to  realise.  But  so  things  are,  and  so  we  must  have 
courage  to  face  them.  Yet,  granted  that  the  condi- 
tions of  human  life  must  always  tend  towards  slavery, 
there  always  remains  the  question  of  degree.  Speak- 
ing as  a  woman  and  a  governess,  I  have  never  known 
any  but  the  minimum  of  independence;  but,  my  dear 
Ernest,  I  am  far  from  being  convinced  that  the  maxi- 
mum of  that  priceless  blessing  is  to  be  found  in  the 
career  you  think  of  embracing.  In  it  especially  the 
state  of  subordination  alarms  me  for  you,  because 
there  is  no  means  of  ever  escaping  it.  I  know,  my 
dear,  that  my  fears  are  open  to  many  objections;  if 
I  did  not,  my  language  would  be  still  more  explicit. 


102  MOTHER  AND  SISTER 

I  know,  too,  that  I  may  be  accused  of  giving  judg- 
ment on  a  subject  I  have  had  no  opportunity  of 
examining  closely,  but  you  yourself  admit  that  many 
of  your  hopes  have  melted  away  before  your  eyes. 
How  then  can  I  do  otherwise  than  dread  some  fresh 
disappointment  for  you  ?  Ernest !  dearest  friend ! 
forgive  me  if  I  add  my  anxiety  to  your  own,  without 
saying  a  word  to  solve  all  your  difficulties.  Often 
do  I  accuse  myself  of  deepening  the  abyss  by  thus 
leading  you  to  probe  your  own  thoughts,  by  search- 
ing them  with  you.  But  I  cannot  hide  my  slightest 
impression  from  you.  How  then  could  I  conceal 
those  which  are  foremost  in  my  mind  ?  You  very 
truly  remark,  dear  Ernest,  that  the  manoeuvres  which 
ensure  success  in  so  many  careers,  even  that  of  a 
teacher,  are  repugnant  to  your  feelings.  I  will  add 
that  they  might  often  offend  your  innate  sense  of 
uprightness.  Public  tuition,  above  a  certain  level,  is 
a  noble  and  attractive  profession,  inasmuch  as  it  per- 
mits of  a  life  of  study  and  offers  opportunities  of 
usefulness  to  others.  But  it  is  difficult  to  reach  that 
level,  and  the  work  at  any  lower  one  is  very  dis- 
couraging. You  have  had  opportunities  of  judging 
this  matter  as  closely  as  myself.  Observe,  however, 
that  though  I  mention  the  great  difficulties  to  be 
overcome  before  rising  to  professorial  rank,  I  am 
far  from  believing  it  to  be  impossible.  Others  have 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  103 

done  it,  which  proves  its  feasibility.  And  besides,  it 
should  be  remembered  that  there  is  no  profession  in 
which  the  first  steps  are  not  difficult.  Private  tuition, 
in  a  man's  case,  is  a  career  offering  no  outlook, 
which  frequently  renders  any  attempt  at  providing 
for  the  future  utterly  hopeless,  and  thus  exposes 
him  to  a  very  pitiable  old  age.  It  is  a  life,  too,  in 
which  dependence  and  subjection  are  strained  to 
their  uttermost  limit,  in  which  personal  tastes  must 
be  perpetually  sacrificed,  and  one's  dearest  studies 
put  aside  to  overlook  or  assist  pupils  whose  educa- 
tion bristles  with  difficulties  caused  by  their  own 
parents'  follies.  It  is  less  fatiguing  and  laborious 
than  public  teaching,  and  yet,  for  a  many  I  should 
think  this  latter  much  to  be  preferred. 

I  do  not  attempt,  my  poor  dear  friend,  to  paint 
things  gayer  than  they  are.  Always,  alas !  I  must 
premise  that  life  means  suffering  and  struggle,  and 
that  it  is  a  hard  thing  to  make  a  position  for  oneself. 
Yet  you  must  not  lose  courage.  Far  from  it.  If 
the  path  be  rough,  we  have  plenty  of  strength  to 
carry  us  over  its  difficulties.  In  an  upright  spirit, 
a  worthy  end,  a  firm  and  unchanging  will,  we 
already  possess  the  chief  groundwork  on  which  the 
edifice  must  rest.  Whatever  happens,  my  dear  good 
brother,  you  will  always  have  my  active  and  zealous 
co-operation.  My  power  to  help  is  very  small,  un- 


104  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

happily,  but  that  little,  at  all  events,  shall  never  fail 
you.  Courage,  then!  go  on  in  truth  and  wisdom 
and  prudence,  and  be  your  choice  what  it  may,  at  all 
events  you  will  always  be  an  honest  man  !  Never  let 
your  confidence  in  me  waver,  be  sure  I  shall  always 
hold  it  sacred  and  most  dear.  I  shall  reckon  on  it 
all  my  life,  just  as  I  do  on  your  returning  the 
boundless  affection  I  bear  you.  There  is  something 
so  sweet  in  feeling  such  an  inward  strength,  and  in 
being  able  to  lean  on  it  without  a  taint  of  fear! 

I  have  had  no  news  of  our  dear  good  mother  for 
a  long  time.  Though  this  does  not  make  me  par- 
ticularly anxious,  it  saddens  me  deeply,  and  that 
because  I  seem  to  have  been  neglectful  of  her  in 
what  has  really  been  a  very  involuntary  manner. 
Some  three  months  ago  I  promised  her  a  remittance 
which  I  had  taken  steps  to  send  her.  Living  as  I 
do  in  a  country  where  I  hardly  know  a  soul,  and 
where  I  consequently  can  do  nothing  by  myself,  I 
was  obliged  to  apply,  as  always  in  such  a  case,  to 
my  pupil's  father.  He  began  by  delaying,  as  rich 
people  so  often  do,  without  meaning  any  harm,  in 
money  matters;  then  he  went  away  from  home,  and 
has  not  yet  returned.  Our  poor  mother  may  be 
blaming  me,  while  I  have  really  neglected  no  means 
open  to  me  of  fulfilling  my  promise.  I  am  always 
thinking  she  may  be  in  difficulties,  and  that  you  too 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  105 

.  .  .  Oh  Heavens!  the  thought  afflicts  me!  Why 
cannot  the  rich  consider  that  those  who  have  no  fort- 
une but  what  they  earn  need  to  be  regularly  paid? 
Because,  my  dear,  sad  as  it  is  to  say  it,  man  only 
enters  into  those  sufferings  he  has  himself  endured 
—  none  otheYs  exist  for  him.  How  often  I  have  had 
occasion  to  recognise  this  truth !  I  accuse  no  one. 
I  excuse  them  rather.  I  hope  soon  to  be  able  to  rid 
me  of  this  load  which  weighs  so  heavily  on  me. 

Let  me  know  when  your  vacation  begins.  I  do 
not  forget  that  you  are  to  spend  it  with  our  dear 
mother  this  year,  and  I  want  to  make  my  arrange- 
ments in  advance  for  carrying  out  this  delightful 
project.  Write  me,  I  beg  of  you,  whenever  that  is 
possible.  Ah !  if  you  knew  how  happy  it  makes  me 
to  get  a  letter  from  you !  Poor  Ernest !  how  my 
heart  ached  when  I  left  you!  Farewell,  my  dear 
loved  brother.  Love  me  always,  and  be  very  sure 
that  my  fond  memory  turns  to  you  in  those  moments 
when  my  heart  seems  weighed  down  with  the  sad- 
ness that  so  often  haunts  one  in  a  foreign  country, 
in  spite  of  all  one's  efforts  to  be  cheerful.  Do  not 
let  this  sadden  you,  dear  Ernest.  Though  my  life 
has  been  full  of  struggle,  I  have  always  been  full  of 
courage  too,  and  I  find  it  afresh  in  the  thought  of 
your  dear  affection  for  me.  Farewell  again.  Never 
forget  I  shall  always  be  your  closest  friend.  H.  R. 


106  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

N.B.  —  Give  our  mother  your  news  of   me,  I   beg. 
Here   is   my   exact   address.     It   is   not   necessary   to 
prepay  letters  to  ensure  their  being  delivered :  — 
Mdlle.  R., 

Chdteaii  de  Cttmensow, 
Poste  de  Zwierziniec, 

near  Zamosc,  Poland. 


VI 


MDLLE.    RENAN,  ChAteau  de   Cttmensow,   Zwierziniec, 
near  Zamosc,  Poland. 

MY  DEAR  HENRIETTE,  —  You  will  forgive  my  long 
silence  when  you  know  its  motive.  Since  last  we 
talked  together  many  things  have  happened,  things 
that  in  so  peaceful  a  life  as  mine  may  well  pass 
for  events,  and  which  render  your  counsels  even 
more  urgently  necessary  than  before.  Never  have  I 
realised  the  misfortune  of  being  parted  from  my 
own  people  so  bitterly  as  in  the  moments  of  per- 
plexity whose  story  I  will  now  comfort  myself  by 
telling  you.  Oh !  how  often  and  how  enviously  have 
I  looked  back  upon  those  happy  days  when  my 
troubles  never  lasted  long,  seeing  I  could  end  them 
once  for  all  by  confiding  them  to  you.  Now  is  the 
time,  my  dearest  Henriette,  when  your  presence  and 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  107 

your  counsel  would  indeed  be  useful  to  me.  Is  it 
fate,  kind  Heaven,  that  wills  us  never  to  appreciate 
our  blessings  till  we  have  lost  them  ?  With  the  close 
of  my  stay  at  Issy  came  the  moment  fixed  by  the 
custom  of  that  house  for  the  tonsure  of  those  deemed 
worthy  of  the  rite,  and  I  was  among  those  called 
upon  by  our  Superiors  to  take  this  first  step  in  the 
sacerdotal  path.  This  was  no  order,  you  must  under- 
stand, not  even  a  suggestion;  it  was  simply  a  per- 
mission, whereof  each  was  to  avail  himself  or  not, 
according  to  his  own  conclusions  and  the  counsels  of 
his  Director.  You  may  perhaps  conceive,  but  I  can 
never  express,  all  the  doubts  and  perplexities  into 
which  such  a  proposal  naturally  plunged  me.  I  do 
not  believe  myself  to  have  either  exaggerated  or 
dissimulated  the  importance  of  the  step  I  had  to 
consider.  The  engagement  suggested  was  not  an 
irrevocable  one;  it  was  no  vow,  but  it  was  a  prom- 
ise—  a  promise  based  on  honour  and  on  conscience 
—  a  promise  made  to  God  Himself  —  and  such  a 
promise  borders  very  closely  on  the  nature  of  a  vow. 
I  felt,  therefore,  that  I  must  meditate  most  deeply 
before  making  it,  and  my  conscience  cannot  reproach 
me  with  having  neglected  any  possible  means  of 
enlightenment. 

I  did  not  lack  advice.     God  granted  me  a  treasure 
as  priceless  as  it  is  rare  in  the  person  of  a  remark- 


io8  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

ably  kind  and  sagacious  Director.  In  him  I  found 
a  simplicity  and  truthfulness  of  character  in  perfect 
harmony  with  my  own,  and  above  all,  a  sensitive  and 
practised  tact,  quick  to  understand  and  appreciate 
those  shades  of  feeling  which  in  such  delicate  matters 
can  only  be  faintly  indicated.  At  first  his  counsels 
tended  towards  an  affirmative  decision.  Indeed,  at 
one  moment  he  was  positive  on  the  subject,  but  my 
temptations  and  doubts  seemed  to  redouble  their  in- 
tensity in  proportion  to  the  earnestness  I  brought 
to  bear  on  the  all-important  decision.  And  besides, 
the  example  of  several  of  my  comrades,  who  had 
settled  to  wait  till  they  were  at  St.  Sulpice,  and  had 
concluded  their  theological  studies  (the  usual  course 
of  action),  before  giving  their  first  pledge,  was  before 
my  eyes.  To  be  brief,  all  my  previous  difficulties 
crowded  back  upon  my  mind.  Your  advice,  my 
own  meditations,  all  added  to  my  uneasiness.  Truth 
compels  me  to  acknowledge,  indeed,  that  the  idea 
of  taking  a  backward  step  in  the  sacerdotal  career 
never  occurred  to  me.  I  never  considered  the  mat- 
ter except  as  a  question  of  delay,  and  my  Director 
strongly  urged  my  taking  no  other  view  of  it.  But 
I  could  not  conceal  the  fact  that  such  a  delay  had 
become  almost  indispensable  to  me.  At  last  the 
fresh  considerations  I  submitted  to  him  prevailed 
against  his  first  opinion,  and  he  informed  me  that, 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  109 

as  no  harm  could  be  done  by  waiting,  and  some 
might  possibly  arise,  in  the  present  state  of  my  mind, 
from  undue  precipitation,  he  would  consent  to  the 
delay  I  asked  for.  "  But  in  any  case,"  he  said,  "keep 
the  question  in  hand  quite  apart  from  that  of  your 
vocation  for  the  priesthood.  They  are  utterly  and 
absolutely  distinct,  and  you  know  my  judgment  as 
to  the  second  of  the  two." 

This,  dearest  Henriette,  is  a  true  history  of  what 
has  come  to  pass.  Perhaps  you  will  think  my  con- 
duct betrayed  some  irresolution.  You  must  admit 
that  if  ever  subject  excused  it,  this  one  does.  God 
will  judge  whether  my  motives  have  been  tainted  by 
inconstancy  or  thoughtlessness.  My  fault  in  the  mat- 
ter, if  [fault  there  is,  lies  here,  that  when  it  seemed 
about  to  take  decisive  form,  I  did  perhaps  mention  it 
too  positively  to  our  mother,  and  I  may  have  roused 
hopes  she  cherished,  and  which  I  have  since  been 
driven  to  dispel.  That,  I  confess,  has  been  much  the 
tenderest  point  with  me.  I  have  had  to  summon  all 
my  courage  to  follow  the  voice  of  conscience  rather 
than  that  of  my  own  blood  and  its  affections,  in  a 
business  which  I  feared  might  cause  sharp  suffering 
to  the  most  beloved  of  mothers.  I  gather  from  her 
letters  that  she  has  not  been  seriously  affected.  But 
the  terrible  dread  I  had  of  such  an  occurrence  will  be 
a  great  lesson  to  me  for  the  future. 


no  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

Finally,  my  dear  Henriette,  you  may  be  surprised 
when  I  tell  you  that  my  views  on  the  ecclesiastical 
state  have  never  been  so  settled  as  since  I  have 
passed  through  this  first  ordeal.  Never  have  I  been 
so  thoroughly  convinced,  never  have  my  superiors  so 
perfectly  agreed  in  their  assurances,  that  it  is  God's 
will  that  I  should  enter  the  priesthood.  Not  that  I 
conceive  it  to  be  the  ideal  state  of  human  happiness. 
Neither  my  knowledge  of  my  own  character  nor  my 
experience  incline  me  to  that  opinion.  But  after  all, 
dear  Henriette,  it  is  folly  to  amuse  oneself  running 
after  a  chimera  when  the  thing  itself  has  no  existence 
here  below.  Duty,  virtue,  the  gratification  inseparable 
from  the  exercise  of  the  noblest  of  our  faculties,  these 
are  the  only  joys  a  man  may  reasonably  seek  for. 
Enjoyment,  in  its  widest  sense,  is  not  for  him,  and 
he  only  wears  himself  out  by  fruitlessly  pursuing  it. 
Christianity  once  accepted,  as  it  rationally  may  be, 
human  existence  has  a  different  object.  Nothing,  to 
my  mind,  more  conclusively  attests  the  divine  origin 
of  the  Christian  theory  of  human  life  and  happiness 
than  the  reproach  so  bitterly  made  against  it  by  the 
modern  schools,  of  forcing  men  to  put  themselves 
perpetually  aside,  to  force  back  the  tide,  as  it  were,  of 
their  own  natures,  to  set  their  happiness  beyond  the 
sphere  of  their  own  individuality  and  earthly  pleas- 
ures. I  can  forgive  the  unbelievers  freely  enough, 


ERNEST  TO  HENRI ETTE  in 

indeed,  for  not  accepting  Christianity.  God  makes 
the  Christian,  not  himself,  so  that  is  only  partially 
their  fault.  But  I  cannot  forgive  their  failure  to  per- 
ceive that  the  Christian  theory  is  merely  the  expres- 
sion of  a  fact  —  the  fact  of  the  downfall  and  present 
misery  of  the  human  race.  A  simple  practical  study 
of  mankind  should  have  convinced  them  of  this  truth. 

This  point  established,  Christianity  once  proved  and 
God's  will  manifested,  as  I  have  reason  to  believe  it 
has  been  in  my  case,  the  logical  consequence  appears 
inevitable.  One  difficulty,  however,  has  often  pre- 
occupied me.  Even  supposing,  as  I  believe,  that  the 
fear  of  losing  some  comforts  and  of  undergoing  pos- 
sible and  considerable  trouble  is  not  a  sufficient  reason 
for  drawing  back,  might  not —  so  I  have  said  to  myself 
—  the  desire  of  preserving  that  sweet  liberty  and  honest 
independence  so  necessary  to  the  free  action  of  the 
moral  and  intellectual  faculties  excuse  me  from  embrac- 
ing a  career  which,  as  I  cannot  conceal  from  myself, 
will  give  me  but  small  opportunity  of  enjoying  them? 

Here  is  my  answer.  There  are  two  kinds  of  intel- 
lectual freedom.  One  is  bold,  presumptuous,  carping 
at  all  reverence.  That  kind  of  freedom  is  forbidden 
me  by  my  priestly  office,  and  even  were  I  to  embrace 
a  different  life,  my  conscience  and  my  sincere  love  of 
truth  would  still  forbid  it  me.  So  there  can  be  no 
question  of  that  sort  of  independence  in  my  case. 


112  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

There  is  another  kind,  wiser,  respecting  all  things 
worthy  of  respect,  despising  neither  persons  nor 
beliefs,  inquiring  calmly  and  straightforwardly,  using 
the  reason  God  has  bestowed  because  it  was  given  for 
that  purpose,  never  accepting  nor  rejecting  any  opin- 
ion on  merely  human  authority.  This  is  a  freedom 
permitted  to  all  men,  and  why  not  to  a  priest?  It  is 
true  he  has  a  duty  in  the  matter  beyond  that  of  others 
—  the  duty  of  knowing  when  to  hold  his  peace  and 
keep  his  thought  in  his  own  heart ;  for  those  who  take 
alarm  at  what  they  cannot  comprehend  are  legion. 
But  after  all,  is  it  such  a  trial  to  think  for  oneself 
alone,  and  is  it  not  a  secret  spring  of  vanity  which 
makes  one  so  eager  to  communicate  one's  thoughts  to 
others  ?  Must  not  every  man  who  desires  to  live  in 
peace  make  to  himself  that  law  of  silence  of  which  I 
have  just  spoken?  "We  must  have  a  hindmost 
thought,"  says  Pascal,  "and  judge  all  things  by  it,  yet 
must  we  speak  as  do  the  people." 

This,  too,  is  what  the  learned  Director  I  have 
already  mentioned  to  you  impressed  on  me,  laying 
such  stress  upon  the  point  as  to  seem  to  speak  out  of 
his  own  experience.  "Dear  friend,"  he  said,  "if  I 
did  not  know  you  to  have  the  power  of  keeping 
silence,  I  would  beseech  you  not  to  enter  the  priest- 
hood." "  Sir,"  I  replied,  "  I  have  examined  myself, 
and  I  think  I  can  answer  for  possessing  it." 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  113 

Here,  then,  dearest  Henriette,  is  the  true  story  of 
my  -present  position.  It  is  an  unspeakable  consola- 
tion to  me  to  know  that  in  your  heart,  at  all  events, 
I  shall  always  have  a  refuge  where  I  may  find  that 
independence  one  so  rarely  meets  with  outside  one's 
own.  I  take  it  as  a  quite  special  sign  of  His  divine 
beneficence  that  God  should  have  given  man  the  en- 
joyments and  familiar  confidence  of  family  life  to  com- 
pensate for  the  constraints  necessarily  imposed  upon 
him  by  society.  I  often  find  great  delight  in  dream- 
ing of  those  ancient  times  when  the  family  constituted 
the  only  social  bond.  We  have  made  great  progress 
since  those  days — so  people  say.  Truly  progress  is 
a  very  relative  term ! 

I  find  a  somewhat  less  hazy  consolation  in  the 
thought  that  I  shall  soon  be  enjoying  the  company 
of  my  good  old  mother  and  of  our  dear  Alain.  I  do 
not  think  I  have  ever  longed  so  earnestly  to  see 
them.  The  plan  of  our  journey  is  already  made  out. 
It  is  settled  that  I  am  to  go  straight  to  Treguier,  and 
that  towards  the  end  of  my  vacation  we  are  to  move, 
my  mother  and  I,  to  St.  Malo.  Mother  will  stay  on 
there  some  time  after  my  departure.  Will  this  lead 
to  a  more  permanent  reunion  ?  I  should  dare  to 
hope  it,  did  not  the  very  prudent  views  expressed  in 
your  last  letter  make  me  hold  my  expectations  con- 
cerning so  delicate  a  business  rigorously  in  check. 


H4  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

It  will  be  an  experiment,  at  all  events,  an  indispen- 
sable preliminary,  as  you  justly  indicate,  to  any  such 
arrangement. 

You  have  doubtless  heard  of  the  excellent  transac- 
tion Alain  has  just  concluded,  by  which  he  under- 
takes to  carry  on  M.  Lemonnier's  business  operations. 
Though  I  am  far  from  being  in  a  position  to  appre- 
ciate its  results,  I  fancy  they  will  be  very  advanta- 
geous to  him. 

My  dearest  Henriette,  pray  calm  the  fear  a  passage 
in  your  last  letter  has  aroused  in  me.  You  seemed 
to  indicate  —  at  all  events,  I  fancied  I  understood  — 
that  the  family  in  which  you  are  employed  is  care- 
less as  to  the  repayment  of  the  immense  sacrifices 
you  have  made  for  it,  and  that  you  had  to  fight  hard 
to  secure  that  private  independence  which  is  the  dear- 
est treasure  of  existence.  Oh,  my  Henriette !  can  it 
be  thus  your  services  are  requited?  Is  this  the  re- 
ward of  your  exile  ?  Tell  me  everything,  I  do  beseech 
you.  Use  no  more  reserve  in  disclosing  your  troubles 
to  me  than  I  do  in  confiding  mine  to  you.  I  shall 
suffer  less,  knowing  their  sad  reality,  than  fancying, 
as  I  now  do,  that  you  are  secretly  nursing  a  sorrow 
which  must  be  all  the  bitterer  because  it  presupposes 
a  most  shameful  ingratitude  in  those  to  whom  your 
life  has  been  devoted.  That  has  been  my  worst  fear. 
Oh,  if  it  should  prove  true!  Reassure  me,  I  entreat 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  115 

you.  Alain  has  forwarded  me  two  hundred  francs  for 
my  travelling  expenses,  and  my  mother  tells  me  of  a 
still  larger  sum  you  have  sent  to  renew  my  wardrobe. 
Must  everything  fall  on  you?  Poor  Henriette!  How 
can  I  ever  repay  all  I  owe  you  ?  God  knows  the  chief 
sacrifice  I  offer  Him  in  devoting  myself  to  His  ser- 
vice lies  in  renouncing  the  hope,  not  of  repaying  you 
indeed,  but  of  doing  so  to  anything  like  the  extent  you 
deserve.  My  love  must  supply  what  else  is  lacking. 

I  shall  start  between  the  2Oth  and  28th  of  July. 
So,  if  you  calculate  your  answer  cannot  reach  me 
before  that  date,  you  had  betted  send  it  to  Brittany. 
Yet  I  would  rather  have  it  here.  Do  tell  me 
whether  there  is  any  glimmer  of  a  chance  of  your 
coming  to  France  before  many  years  are  out,  either 
in  charge  of  your  pupils,  or  with  their  whole  family, 
or  otherwise  ?  You  mentioned  such  a  possibility 
before  you  left  us,  and  I  often  think  of  it.  Tell  me 
if  it  is  nothing  but  a  dream. 

Farewell,  my  dear,  good  Henriette!  Seeing  the 
sole  consolation  of  this  earthly  life  is  to  love  and  to 
be  loved,  let  us  love  each  other  unreservedly,  and 
let  us  hope.  Hope  is  always  a  happiness,  and  often 
it  is  bravery  as  well.  May  this  thought  sustain  us! 
I  can  never  know  hopeless  sorrow,  for  my  part,  so 
long  as  I  have  your  affection  to  lean  on.  May  you 
realise  how  fondly  I  requite  it !  E.  RENAN. 


n6  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 


VII 

MDLLE.  RENAN,  Zamoysky  Palace,  Warsaw, 
Poland. 

PARIS,  November  27,  1843. 

It  is  with  great  delight,  my  dearest  Henriette,  that 
I  take  up  the  thread  of  our  intercourse,  interrupted 
during  the  last  few  months  by  the  moves  from  place 
to  place  which  have  broken  the  usual  monotony  of 
my  life.  My  departure  from  Issy,  my  journeys  to 
Tre'guier  and  St.  Malo,  my  settling  down  at  St.  Sul- 
pice,  have  all  left  vivid,  though  very  various,  impres- 
sions on  my  mind.  Now  I  am  back  at  last  in  the 
ordinary  channel  of  my  existence,  let  me  spend  a 
moment  in  going  over  the  past  with  you,  dear  Hen- 
riette, and  try  to  give  you  some  notion  of  my  present 
condition  of  mind.  You  are  the  only  living  being, 
probably,  to  whom  I  can  confide  it  wholly,  without 
a  shadow  of  concealment.  My  stay  at  Treguier, 
dearest  sister,  was  a  time  of  perfect  happiness  to 
me.  In  all  truth,  I  sorely  needed  it.  My  close  and 
serious  work  during  the  two  years  I  spent  at  Issy, 
the  lack  of  a  holiday  the  year  before  —  for  I  do  not 
count  the  weeks  spent  there  in  absolute  solitude  as 
being  a  real  holiday  —  and  above  all,  the  severe 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  117 

trouble  I  went  through  at  the  close  of  my  second 
year,  had  so  broken  me  down,  physically  and  morally, 
that  I  was  unrecognisable.  I  almost  frightened  all 
our  friends,  and  they  have  astonished  me  not  a  little 
by  inquiring  if  I  was  quite  recovered  from  my  illness. 
You  know  how  fruitful  that  country  is  in  hypotheses, 
especially  as  to  other  people's  affairs !  However, 
my  good  mother's  care  of  me  has  quite  restored  my 
health,  and  the  happiness  of  being  with  her  scattered, 
for  the  time,  at  all  events,  the  anxieties  which  had 
haunted  me  so  long.  Indeed,  I  do  not  think  I  ever 
spent  two  happier  months,  and  all  the  more  so  from 
their  contrast  with  the  preceding  ones. 

I  led  a  pleasant,  tranquil  life,  admirably  suited  to 
my  tastes ;  I  met  with  frank  and  honest  friendship ; 
I  had  the  joy,  always  a  keen  one  to  me,  of  seeing 
my  beloved  Brittany  once  more;  and  above  all,  I 
sunned  myself  in  that  maternal  love,  so  fond,  so 
watchful,  so  devoted,  which  resembles  no  other  affec- 
tion, and  of  which  our  mother  is  the  very  pattern. 
I  scarcely  left  her  side  during  those  two  months.  I 
was  never  so  happy  as  with  her,  because  nowhere 
else  did  I  meet  such  confidence,  such  simplicity,  and 
such  truth.  I  was  delighted,  dearest  Henriette,  with 
her  condition  in  every  way.  Her  health  is  as  good 
as  we  have  any  right  to  expect  at  her  age,  and  con- 
sidering the  life  she  has  led.  She  has  a  natural 


ii8  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

courage  and  cheerfulness  which  enable  her  to  bear 
her  loneliness  perfectly,  and  indeed  she  receives  every 
sort  of  attention  from  our  own  relations  and  all  her 
neighbours.  It  is  a  real  joy  to  me  to  have  seen  all 
this  with  my  own  eyes,  and  to  feel  I  may  be  per- 
fectly easy  about  her.  I  am  convinced  she  could 
not  be  better  off  anywhere,  once  granting  that  she 
must  be  parted  from  her  children. 

Now,  dearest  Henriette,  I  come  to  my  own  per- 
sonal concerns,  and  I  will  begin  by  saying  a  few 
words  about  the  new  house  where  I  am  settled.  It 
is  not  very  like  those  I  have  already  passed  through. 
The  rule  is  broader  and  more  general  than  at  Issy. 
All  that  there  smacked  of  the  educational  establish- 
ment is  eliminated  here;  and  indeed  we  are  all  of  us 
young  men  of  between  twenty  and  thirty,  most  of 
whom  have  finished  our  ecclesiastical  studies,  and  are 
working  on  our  own  account.  Hence  each,  as  it 
were,  lives  his  life  apart.  The  tone  among  the  pupils 
is  very  good.  There  is  perfect  politeness,  together 
with  a  striking  air  of  coolness  and  mutual  indiffer- 
ence. The  huge  majority  come  up  from  the  prov- 
inces to  spend  a  year  or  two,  and  care  little  about 
making  acquaintances  whom  they  are  never  likely  to 
meet  again.  So  the  life  is  really  a  private  one.  Be- 
sides, there  are  so  many  of  us,  that  we  hardly  see 
each  other  oftener  than  once  in  two  or  three  months. 


ERNEST  TO  HENR1ETTE  119 

Hence  you  may  judge  how  rare  any  amount  of  inti- 
macy must  be.  You  may  imagine,  too,  that  so  large 
a  company  must  be  very  mixed.  This  is  true  enough ; 
yet  the  spirit  of  evil,  of  intrigue,  of  envy  is  kept 
under,  at  all  events,  if  not  utterly  stifled. 

Life  here  has  not  that  quality  of  monotony  which 
makes  Issy  so  unendurable  to  those  who  have  no 
taste  for  meditation.  For  my  part,  I  am  rather  in- 
clined to  complain  on  the  score  of  dissipation,  and  if 
there  is  one  thing  about  Issy  which  I  regret,  it  is 
the  sweet  if  somewhat  melancholy  calm  caused  by 
the  small  number  of  the  pupils  and  the  quiet  of  the 
place.  As  for  the  Principals,  their  attention  and 
care  is  admirable;  but  one  feels  it  is  all  mechanical, 
that  they  are  men  who  have  been  in  the  habit  of 
doing  the  same  thing  for  the  next-comer  for  the  last 
twenty  or  thirty  years,  and  look  on  you  merely  as 
another  pupil  committed  to  their  charge,  never  giv- 
ing a  thought  to  your  personal  individuality.  But  on 
the  whole,  the  number  of  learned  and  distinguished 
men  collected  here  surprises  me.  There  is  not  a 
single  member  of  the  teaching  staff  who  has  not 
real  merit,  and  some  of  them  are  remarkable  alike 
for  their  talents  and  their  erudition.  The  lectures 
are  very  carefully  prepared  and  delivered,  and  are 
much  more  complete  as  to  the  instruction  they  im- 
part than  those  in  any  other  ecclesiastical  establish- 


120  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

ment ;  in  short,  nothing  which  could  possibly  facilitate 
our  studies  is  neglected.  In  material  matters,  every- 
thing is  perfect.  The  cleanliness  approaches  luxury, 
though  that  is  kept  within  reasonable  bounds. 

As  to  study,  the  only  one  practised  here,  strictly 
speaking,  is  Theology  in  all  its  various  departments, 
canonical  law,  Scriptural  history,  and  so  forth.  He- 
brew is  the  only  branch  of  knowledge,  apart  from 
Theology,  in  which  a  special  course  is  given. 

Theology  has  two  very  distinct  sides,  as  far  re- 
moved from  each  other  in  their  object  as  in  their 
method,  and  towards  which  I  feel  very  differently 
inclined.  One  is  what  I  should  be  disposed  to  call 
the  demonstrative  or  apologetic  side,  which  estab- 
lishes the  general  principles  and  proofs  of  religion 
and  of  the  doctrines  of  the  Church.  The  second  — 
what  I  should  denominate  the  expository  side — takes 
the  first  for  granted,  and  explains  the  decisions  and 
dogmas  defined  by  the  Church  or  contained  in  Script- 
ure. The  first  of  these  two  sides  is  grand  and 
noble.  It  is  a  real  philosophy,  necessitating  an 
analysis  of  mankind,  of  society,  of  critical  discus- 
sions of  all  kinds,  which,  in  a  word,  forces  one  into 
practical  research.  It  is  bound  up  with  the  highest 
questions  which  have  occupied  the  human  mind,  and 
seems  to  me  indispensable  to  any  thinking  man. 

The  case  with  regard  to  the   other  aspect  of  theo- 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  121 

logical  study  is  very  different.  Nothing  indeed  can 
be  deeper  than  the  dogmas  which  form  its  subject; 
but  in  that  very  fact  the  root  of  the  evil  lies.  The 
human  mind  has  lost  itself  in  the  endeavour  to 
fathom  such  mysteries.  Its  efforts  to  class  and  sub- 
mit to  its  own  judgment  matters  belonging  to  an 
order  of  things  totally  beyond  its  comprehension 
have  only  ended  in  unfathomable  subtleties  of  rea- 
soning and  unintelligible  explanations.  Such  is  the 
real  character  of  this  second  department  of  Theol- 
ogy. It  is  permeated  with  the  spirit  of  Mediaeval 
Scholasticism,  and  still  modelled,  as  it  were,  on  its 
empty  and  abstract  formulas.  Happily  form  cannot 
affect  the  heart  of  any  matter.  Dogmatic  Theology 
without  Scholasticism  has  existed,  and  there  is  no 
reason  why  it  should  not  emancipate  itself  once 
more.  Nothing  proves  this  possibility  more  thor- 
oughly than  the  truth  and  beauty  which  mark  the 
apologetic  department  of  Theology.  This,  founded 
entirely  on  fact  and  induction,  yet  astounds  one  by 
its  depth.  For  one  of  the  greatest  evidences  of 
Christian  truth,  to  my  mind,  is  that  its  reality  has 
to  be  demonstrated  by  the  analysis  of  all  the  deep- 
est feelings  of  mankind.  There  lies  its  key.  If,  on 
the  other  hand,  Christianity  were  a  delusion,  such 
an  analysis  could  not  fail  to  overthrow  it. 

To  my  theological   studies   I    have   added   that  of 


122  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

Hebrew,  over  which  I  expect  to  spend  the  greater 
part  of  my  working  hours.  We  have  an  excellent 
Hebrew  professor,  a  profound  scholar,  abreast  of  all 
the  additions  modern  science  has  made  to  that 
branch  of  learning.  He  has  several  times  mentioned 
the  name  of  a  Mons.  Latouche,  of  whom  I  fancy  I 
have  heard  you  speak.  I  have  his  work  on  Hebrew 
grammar,  and  I  have  looked  into  his  general  method. 
His  principles  seem  to  me  correct,  but,  as  far  as  I 
can  judge,  he  is  too  hot-headed  a  person  to  be  equal 
to  constructing  a  scientific  edifice.  Though  all  his 
principles,  as  I  have  already  stated,  are  true  in  sub- 
stance, they  are  pushed  too  far.  But  some  of  his 
views,  at  all  events,  are  excellent,  and  he  possesses 
a  most  unusual  amount  of  acuteness  and  a  huge 
power  of  observation  and  of  generalisation.  This  is 
the  Professor's  opinion  as  well  as  mine.  The  text- 
book for  our  Hebrew  lessons  is  a  French  abridg- 
ment of  the  famous  Grammar  by  Gesenius.  Here 
again  the  Germans  bear  off  the  palm.  They  have 
turned  the  study  of  Hebrew  into  a  real  and  rational 
science,  as  accurate  as  geometry,  wherein  memory 
plays  but  a  subordinate  part.  The  difficulties  are 
far  from  great,  however,  when  once  one  grows 
accustomed  to  the  curious  manner  of  writing  the 
vowels,  and  to  the  variety  of  sounds  given  to  the 
same  letter.  And  indeed  the  knowledge  of  Hebrew 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  123 

leads  up  to  such  important  linguistic  rules,  and  it  is 
so  indispensably  necessary  to  the  due  comprehension 
of  the  most  ancient  and  remarkable,  not  to  say  the 
most  venerated,  of  all  books,  that  nobody  could 
grudge  the  labour  necessary  to  acquire  it. 

You  will  be  surprised,  perhaps,  at  my  beginning 
to  learn  another  language  so  soon  after  taking  up 
German,  in  which  I  have  made  so  little  progress. 
Here  is  the  truth,  if  it  must  be  confessed.  You 
know  that  when  I  began  German  I  was  short  of 
money,  and  I  had  to  sponge  on  other  people's  books, 
i.e.,  instead  of  buying  my  own  grammar,  dictionary, 
explanatory  works,  &c.,  I  borrowed  them  from  one 
of  my  fellow-students,  who  had  made  great  progress 
in  the  language.  But,  to  my  misfortune,  he  de- 
parted, taking  his  books  with  him.  So  I  had  to  give 
up  German  for  a  season.  When  I  got  to  St.  Sul- 
pice,  I  might  have  begun  it  again,  but  as  I  have 
the  advantage  here  of  a  special  course  of  Hebrew 
lectures,  remarkable  both  for  clever  treatment  and 
careful  delivery,  you  will  readily  understand  my  pre- 
ferring them  to  going  on  with  a  language  I  should 
have  had  to  study  alone  as  best  I  could. 

Space  fails  me,  dearest  Henriette,  and  I  have  said 
nothing  yet  about  the  solemn  reflections  which  fill 
my  mind  whenever  it  is  not  absorbed  by  study.  You 
can  easily  guess  their  subject.  Fresh  though  not 


124  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

imperative  hints  about  taking  that  first  step  were 
given  me  almost  as  soon  as  I  had  entered  this 
establishment.  They  have  brought  back  all  my 
doubts  and  anxieties.  During  the  vacation  my  sole 
chance  of  happiness  had  lain  in  my  rigid  determi- 
nation not  to  dwell  on  them.  It  is  now  my  duty  to 
examine  the  matter  afresh,  however  painful  it  may 
be.  Great  Heaven!  how  cruel  it  is  that  a  question 
so  deeply  affecting  a  man's  whole  existence  must 
perforce  be  decided  in  such  early  youth.  But  that, 
my  dearest  Henriette,  is  a  quite  inevitable  necessity, 
and  must  be  submitted  to,  whatever  line  I  may  take 
up.  For  could  I  avoid  it,  even  were  I  to  renounce 
the  ecclesiastical  state  ?  No,  indeed ;  the  matter  must 
be  settled  one  way  or  another,  but  a  decision  there 
must  be,  and  the  word  itself  is  terrible  to  me. 

If  I  could  do  aught  to  avoid  it  I  would  seize  the 
chance;  but  I  see  none.  It  is  a  merciless  dilemma. 
An  abyss  yawns  on  my  right  hand  and  on  my  left. 
Never  did  I  realise  the  power  of  Providence  over 
human  destiny  as  when  I  perceived  how  little  man 
himself  is  able  to  control  the  act  which  most  affects 
his  own  fate.  For  I  cannot  conceal  from  myself 
the  fact  that  all  my  meditation  can  serve  but  little 
to  guide  me,  seeing  the  future,  which  alone  could 
give  me  a  fixed  point  for  my  inquiry,  is  mercilessly 
hidden  from  my  view.  True  indeed  it  is  that  we 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  125 

are  led.  Happily  the  Christian  may  add,  "We  are 
well  led!"  This  is  indeed  our  only  true  and  logical 
consolation.  To  conclude,  my  ideas  have  undergone 
but  little  change.  Things  in  themselves,  abstractions 
drawn  from  facts,  a  priori  reasoning,  attract  me,  but 
actual  experience  terrifies  me.  My  own  reflections, 
and  the  facts  I  daily  witness,  only  confirm  these  two 
antagonistic  tendencies  of  my  nature.  Will  you  be- 
lieve that  I  can  already  appeal  to  personal  experience 
in  this  particular?  Did  space  permit  it,  my  dear 
Henriette,  I  could  tell  you  various  things  which 
would  convince  you  my  fears  are  not  imaginary,  and 
that  if  I  do  persevere  I  shall  do  it  by  sacrificing  my- 
self. Suffice  it  to  say  that  envy  and  small-mindedness 
did  much  to  embitter  my  last  month  at  Issy.  Fortu- 
nately the  final  advantage  was  mine  before  my  own 
conscience,  and  even  in  the  sight  of  men. 

Farewell,  my  dearest  Henriette  !  I  expect  to  hear 
from  you  very  shortly.  The  dates  mentioned  in 
Mdlle.  Ulliac's1  make  me  think  letters  get  here  more 
quickly  from  Warsaw.  So  I  shall  be  on  the  watch 
a  day  or  two  hence.  Oh,  if  you  knew  the  happiness 
those  letters  of  yours  give  me!  They  are  epochs 
in  my  life. 

1  Mdlle.  Ulliac  Tremadeure,  a  devoted  friend  of  Mdlle.  Kenan's.  Her 
name  is  mentioned  in  "  My  Sister  Henriette." 


126  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

Farewell,  once  more.  You  know  how  boundless  is 
the  confidence  and  how  deep  the  affection  of  your 

ERNEST. 

VIII 

MDLLE.    RENAN,    Zamoysky   Palace,     Warsaw, 
Poland. 

PARIS,  April  16,  1844. 

MY  DEAR  GOOD  HENRIETTE,  —  I  snatch  a  moment 
from  the  study  and  meditation  which  absorb  me  to 
rest  and  talk  a  little  with  you.  Never  has  the  need 
of  such  sweet  intercourse  seemed  so  intense  as  after 
these  six  long  months  of  an  isolation  which  would 
seem  intolerable  to  any  one  unaware  of  the  extent 
to  which  habit  and  a  man's  deliberate  determination 
to  rule  his  own  mind  will  inure  him  to  the  most 
disagreeable  conditions  of  existence.  Conceive  that 
since  I  said  good-bye  to  our  dear  mother,  that  inter- 
change of  true  and  disinterested  affection  which  our 
poor  hearts  so  imperiously  crave  has  existed  for  me 
in  your  and  her  letters  only !  Never  one  of  those 
precious  talks  in  which  two  hearts  meet  and  com- 
prehend one  another  without  the  cumbrous  medium 
of  artificial  forms  and  borrowed  language.  Of  the 
people  who  surround  me,  some  (few,  luckily,  in 
number)  are  not  worthy  either  of  my  friendship  or 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  127 

my  confidence;  the  others,  stranded  here  for  a  time, 
have  either  given  their  affections  elsewhere,  or  pos- 
sess none  at  all,  and  care  little  for  the  stranger 
chance  has  set  beside  them,  who  will  be  a  stranger 
to  them  to  the  end  of  time.  Imagine  one  of  those 
ancient  Roman  walls  which,  one  is  told,  is  built  of 
stones  laid  one  on  the  other  without  any  mortar 
between  them.  There  you  have  an  exact  image  of 
the  house  in  which  I  am  spending  a  considerable 
portion  of  those  years  which  the  world  assures  us 
are  the  fairest  of  our  lives.  Local  contiguity  is  the 
only  bond  uniting  these  often  incongruous  elements, 
drawn  together  by  views  as  various  in  their  origin. 

And  thus  it  is  to  you,  my  dearest  Henriette,  and 
to  our  beloved  mother,  that  my  thoughts  tend,  as 
though  by  their  own  weight,  the  moment  they  are 
free  to  turn  whither  affection  calls  them.  How  often, 
in  the  midst  of  arduous  labour  and  abstruse  study, 
have  I  caught  myself  wandering  in  that  Poland  of 
which  you  draw  such  a  melancholy  picture,  but 
which  I  cannot  help  fancying  beautiful  and  smiling 
when  I  remember  it  holds  the  object  of  my  love ! 
How  often,  too,  I  have  fancied  myself  between  you 
and  my  mother,  the  happiest  trio!  Nature,  perforce, 
fills  up  the  emptiness  of  reality  by  dreams.  Would 
you  believe,  dear  Henriette,  that  for  an  instant  I 
thought  mine  were  going  to  come  true?  About  a 


128  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

month  ago  I  had  a  letter  from  our  dear  mother,  and 
you  may  conceive  my  astonishment  and  joy  at  read- 
ing these  words  :  —  "  Henriette  tells  me  she  is  com- 
ing to  France;  we  hope  to  arrange  so  that  she  will 
be  here  during  your  vacation,"  &c.,  &c.  The  most 
admirable  plan,  in  a  word,  that  could  have  been 
invented.  Even  the  dates  and  the  length  of  your 
stay  had  been  made  out. 

Such  a  brilliant  plan,  so  unexpected,  so  sudden, 
astounded  me,  and  as  you  may  well  believe,  it  coin- 
cided too  closely  with  my  dearest  wishes  for  me  to 
hesitate  much  as  to  believing  in  it.  I  did  so  believe 
in  it,  and  I  began  to  make  plans  of  my  own  —  to 
improve  on  our  poor  mother's  dreams  even.  That 
sort  of  thing  is  catching,  so  it  seems.  Yet  I  could 
not  help  feeling  occasional  twinges  of  doubt.  Sup- 
posing our  good  mother  had  been  paying  more  heed 
to  her  own  desires  than  to  the  strict  meaning  of  the 
letter.  Supposing  she  had  turned  the  expression  of 
a  wish  into  an  assertion.  The  possibility  alarmed 
me  all  the  more,  because,  looking  at  the  project  in 
the  light  of  my  past  recollections,  I  could  not  but 
feel  it  all  too  unlikely. 

Another  letter  came  at  last,  and  proved  my  fears 
were  only  too  well  founded.  "  Alas !  my  dear 
Ernest,"  wrote  my  dear  mother,  "  I  misunderstood 
that  passage  in  Henriette's  letter.  Madame  Gaugain 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  129 

has  pointed  out  to  me  that  the  whole  thing  depends 
on  whether  the  family  decides  on  coming  to  France 
or  not."  What  a  disappointment,  my  poor  Henri- 
ette !  It  has  so  disheartened  me  that  I  have  a  mind 
to  give  up  building  castles  in  the  air  for  ever. 

By  a  singular  coincidence,  your  last  letter  reached 
me  on  the  very  day  —  I  had  almost  said  at  the  very 
hour  —  when,  after  long  and  painful  doubt,  I  took  my 
first  formal  step  in  the  ecclesiastical  career.  Two 
days  previously  I  was  still  in  a  state  of  overwhelm- 
ing uncertainty.  Neither  my  mother,  nor  anybody  in 
the  world  except  the  person  with  whom  I  was  bound 
to  confer  on  the  subject,  knew  anything  of  it.  I 
should  merely  repeat  what  I  have  so  often  described 
were  I  to  attempt  to  reproduce  the  thoughts  and 
impressions  which  passed  through  my  mind  con- 
cerning this  all-important  decision.  I  only  made  it 
because  I  perceived  that  not  doing  so  meant  making 
the  very  opposite  one,  which  was  still  more  distaste- 
ful to  me.  So  I  had  to  make  up  my  mind  to  it,  all 
the  more  so  because  the  engagement  I  was  called 
upon  to  contract  has  no  irrevocable  character  either 
in  God's  sight  or  man's.  It  is  no  more  than  an 
expression  of  a  present  intention,  leaving  the  future 
free.  And  that  present  intention  I  conscientiously 
entertain.  Besides,  I  say  again,  to  have  shrunk 
afresh  from  so  undecisive  a  forward  step  would 


130  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

have  been  tantamount,  under  the  circumstances,  to 
taking  a  very  decided  backward  one;  though  at  the 
same  time  I  can  honestly  affirm  that  I  did  not  obey 
any  exterior  influence  whatever.  After  all,  in  vow- 
ing my  life  to  God,  and  to  what  I  hold  to  be  His 
truth  —  in  taking  that  truth  for  the  portion  of  my 
inheritance  (the  literal  words  I  used  in  my  profes- 
sion), in  renouncing  all  vanity  and  superfluity,  all 
foolish  delights,  and  what  are  known  as  pleasures  — 
I  only  do  what  I  have  always  unflinchingly  desired 
to  do.  Any  hesitation  I  have  felt  has  arisen  from 
my  not  being  certain  what  was  truth,  and  whether 
that  truth  demanded  that  I  should  serve  the  Church, 
in  spite  of  the  personal  difficulties  I  could  not  help 
foreseeing.  But  whether  I  entered  the  priesthood  or 
not,  nay,  more,  whatever  my  feelings  as  to  the  relig- 
ion in  which  I  believe  I  have  found  the  truth  may 
ultimately  be  —  a  grave  and  quiet  life,  retired  from 
luxury  and  pleasure,  would  always  be  my  choice.  I 
have  promised  nothing  beyond  that,  and  such  a 
promise  seems  to  me  the  necessary  preamble  to  any 
really  serious  pursuit,  the  indispensable  preliminary 
to  a  life  devoted  to  virtue  and  to  truth. 

If  I  had  been  the  leader  of  a  school  of  philosophers, 
I  would  have  imposed  a  ceremony  on  my  disciples, 
the  very  counterpart  of  that  which  the  Church  has 
instituted  for  the  first  stage  of  ecclesiastical  consecra- 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  131 

tion,  because  the  whole  spirit  of  that  ceremony  is 
summed  up  in  the  renunciation  of  all  that  is  neither 
good,  nor  true,  nor  noble,  and  apart  from  such  renun- 
ciation philosophy  cannot  exist.  If  ever  I  become  a 
vain  and  frivolous  man,  clinging  to  the  despicable 
treasure  that  must  pass  away,  or  to  a  public  opinion 
more  despicable  still  (I  do  not  speak  of  glory,  which 
is  no  vanity,  when  properly  understood),  then  indeed 
I  shall  know  I  have  failed  to  keep  my  vow. 

I  have  thought  a  great  deal,  my  dear  Henriette, 
over  the  suggestions  contained  in  your  last  letter  as 
to  my  accepting  some  position  which  would  give  me 
an  opportunity  for  foreign  travel  before  definitely 
settling  down  into  the  ecclesiastical  life.  You  may 
imagine  that,  while  unable  to  make  an  immediate 
decision  on  such  an  important  point  (though  it  could 
not  take  immediate  effect  in  any  case),  I  greatly  value 
the  hope  of  making  use  of  such  an  opportunity  at 
some  future  time.  I  feel  with  you  that  nothing  is 
more  likely  to  give  one  an  insight  into  men  and 
things,  and  to  form  those  reasoning  powers  which 
must  be  rooted  in  experience  and  in  contact  with 
mankind.  Not,  indeed,  I  confess,  that  I  believe  my- 
self destined  to  be  a  man  of  action,  properly  so 
called :  I  fancy  the  world  of  thought  is  much  more 
likely  to  be  my  domain.  But,  nevertheless,  I  hold 
that  even  in  that  respect  foreign  travel,  occasional,  if 


132  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

not  habitual,  confers  a  great  and  inestimable  advan- 
tage by  raising  the  traveller's  mind  above  that  narrow 
partial  prejudice  which,  as  it  were,  forcibly  imprisons 
the  man  who  has  never  breathed  any  intellectual 
atmosphere  save  that  of  his  own  country. 

Yet  I  often  ask,  as  I  think  of  the  future  most  con- 
genial to  my  tastes,  whether  the  years  still  at  my 
disposal  would  not  be  best  employed  in  further  study. 
In  my  present  state  of  mind  I  dare  not  answer  posi- 
tively. This  fact  will  make  you  feel  how  determined 
I  am  not  to  prejudice  the  liberty  I  reserve  to  myself 
of  making  some  future  decision  in  the  matter.  In 
any  case,  nothing  can  happen  for  the  next  eighteen 
months,  for  I  want  to  spend  the  whole  of  next  year 
at  St.  Sulpice,  so  as  to  push  forward  my  theological 
studies  and  perfect  myself  in  Hebrew,  for  which  spe- 
cial facilities  are  here  offered. 

It  is  more  than  likely  that  I  may  be  invited  to 
spend  several  years  at  St.  Nicolas  as  a  teacher. 
The  offer  might  indeed  come  very  shortly;  but 
though  the  plan  has  some  advantages,  on  other  ac- 
counts I  only  half  desire  it.  I  love  and  esteem 
M.  Dupanloup  as  a  man  for  his  qualities  of  head  and 
heart.  He  unites  remarkable  acuteness  with  a  gen- 
erosity and  nobility  of  feeling  rare  enough  now-a- 
days.  But  he  is  well  known  to  be  one  of  the  most 
imperious  natures  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  though 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  133 

certain  very  sharp  discomforts  which  he  has  lately 
endured  in  consequence  of  this  failing  may  have 
given  him  a  profitable  lesson,  if  indeed  such  a  fault 
as  his  be  curable.  And  besides,  the  greater  number 
of  the  teaching  staff  of  that  establishment  are  afflicted 
with  a  small-mindedness  which  borders  on  love  of 
tittle-tattle,  and  which  would  not  at  all  suit  me.  Nev- 
ertheless, as  I  should  never  set  myself  up  to  dispute 
M.  Dupanloup's  management  of  his  own  seminary, 
and  as  the  second  drawback  can  always  be  avoided, 
as  far  as  interior  influences  go,  by  keeping  oneself 
to  oneself,  I  should  not  object  to  spending  one  or 
two  years  there,  so  as  to  have  an  opportunity  of  at- 
tending certain  lectures  and  pursuing  certain  researches 
which  can  only  be  conveniently  made  in  Paris;  after 
which,  my  dream  would  be  to  bury  myself  in  the 
depths  of  Brittany  with  my  mother  for  a  while,  so  as 
to  ruminate  in  peace  over  the  facts  I  shall  have  col-" 
lected,  and  to  ripen  certain  ideas  in  my  brain.  The 
researches  must  be  made  in  Paris,  I  think,  and  the 
result  must  be  thought  over  and  elaborated  amidst 
a  silence  and  calm  which  I  should  never  find  in 
greater  perfection  than  in  our  little  home  with  my 
poor,  dear  mother.  Besides,  this  plan  would  give  both 
her  and  me  a  certain  period  of  happiness.  But  you 
will  understand,  my  dearest  Henriette,  that  I  am  too 
well  aware  of  our  position  to  dare  to  look  at  the 


I34  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

realisation  of  this  last  point  in  any  light  but  that 
of  a  desire,  or  at  the  utmost  of  a  very  distant 
hope;  yet  it  has  long  been  an  element  in  every  plan 
of  mine.  What  dreams,  dear  Henriette,  and  how 
foolish  we  should  be  did  we  not  laugh  at  them  even 
while  we  dream  them ! 

As  to  the  more  distant  future,  it  often  beckons 
me,  I  must  confess,  but  I  make  a  rule  never  to 
allow  it  to  preoccupy  my  thoughts.  Yet  it  seems  to 
me  useful  to  glance  at  it  from  time  to  time,  so  as 
to  regulate  the  march  towards  one's  appointed  end. 
Well,  I  already  hold  some  important  facts  which 
convince  me  I  need  not  be  drawn  against  my  in- 
clinations into  a  sphere  of  occupation  unsuited  to  my 
tastes  and  intellectual  needs.  The  chief  of  these  is 
the  strong  opinion  expressed  by  my  superiors  as  to 
my  qualifications  and  the  tendency  of  my  character, 
which  opinion,  as  you  may  fancy,  has  a  decided 
influence  on  my  future.  They  have  frequently  and 
formally  assured  me,  and  I  had  previously  assured 
myself,  that  the  priestly  office  in  its  ordinary  sense, 
what  I  might  call  parochial  duty,  would  in  no  way 
suit  my  turn  of  mind.  But,  you  may  say,  beyond 
that  particular  line  there  is  nothing  left  a  priest  to  do 
except  to  teach;  and  teaching  in  general,  especially 
in  the  case  of  an  ecclesiastic,  does  not  offer  a  smil- 
ing prospect,  under  present  circumstances.  That  is 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  135 

true,  dear  Henriette ;  yet  I  think  some  happy 
medium  may  perchance  be  found  between  that  minis- 
try to  which  God  certainly  has  not  called  me,  and 
the  thorny  career  of  the  professional  teacher.  With- 
out being  able  exactly  to  define  it,  I  think  I  at 
least  perceive  a  possibility  of  such  a  thing.  The 
Archbishop  of  Paris  is  even  now  engaged  in  ripen- 
ing a  great  plan  —  that  of  founding  a  college  for 
advanced  study,  with  a  curriculum  so  high-class  and 
so  extended  as  to  satisfy  every  taste.  My  present 
Principal,  a  man  of  considerable  merit,  is  to  be  one 
of  the  chief  pillars  of  the  new  institution,  and  several 
times,  when  I  have  expressed  my  fear  of  being  set 
to  do  work  quite  out  of  harmony  with  my  tastes,  he 
has  given  me  indirect  hints  that  he  would  see  there 
should  be  an  opening  for  me  if  I  desired  it.  But  I 
confess  I  should  be  very  fastidious,  and  I  should 
insist  on  being  permitted  a  close  and  careful  pre- 
liminary study  of  the  spirit  and  constitution  of  the 
establishment.  In  any  case,  one  last  resource  is 
open  to  me  —  to  enter  the  Society  of  St.  Sulpice  for 
a  few  years,  at  all  events.  There  I  am  sure  of 
being  received  with  open  arms,  as  is  proved  by  the 
tolerably  explicit  proposals  already  made  me  thence, 
which  I  have  thought  it  best  not  to  notice  so  far. 
As  this  congregation  only  deals  with  the  great 
seminaries,  the  duties  are  not  so  irksome  as  where 


136  BROTHER- AND  SISTER 

elementary  and  classical  teaching  is  required.  But  I 
would  not  join  it  except  on  the  express  condition  of 
never  being  employed  outside  the  diocese  of  Paris, 
and  I  should  do  so  with  the  full  intention  of  leaving 
it  in  the  course  of  a  few  years,  as  do  most  of  the 
priests  who  enter  it.  For  although  the  body  is  known 
as  a  society,  in  its  case,  as  in  that  of  its  pupils, 
juxtaposition  is  the  sole  bond  of  fellowship.  Its 
members  make  neither  engagements  nor  promises. 
If  this  were  not  so,  I  would  not  have  anything  to  do 
with  it  for  all  the  world.  I  am  steadfastly  bent  on 
preserving  the  hope  of  some  day  being  able  to  lead 
that  solitary  and  retired  life  which,  granted  a  small 
circle  of  true  friends,  has  such  a  charm  for  any  one 
capable  of  thought  or  feeling.  Oh,  dearest  Hen- 
riette !  then  indeed  your  presence  will  become  an 
indispensable  element  in  my  happiness !  You  are 
the  being  God  has  given  me  to  love,  and  to  love 
me,  with  that  pure  affection  which  is  Nature's  true 
gift,  and  therefore  that  of  Providence.  I  have  told 
you  all  my  idle  dreams.  Who  else  should  know  them 
but  the  dear  confidant  of  my  inmost  thoughts,  she 
who,  with  one  other  person  only,  fills  a  heart  God  has 
blessed  with  such  great  power  to  love.  However 
things  fall  out,  my  chief  desire,  for  the  sake  of 
which  I  am  prepared  for  any  sacrifice,  to  which  I 
shall  ever  cling,  though  that  should  call  for  super- 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  137 

human  strength,  is  to  preserve  those  principles  of 
uprightness  and  honesty  which  ensure  true  happiness 
apart  from  chance  events  and  human  struggle. 

I  had  a  letter  from  our  good  mother  very  lately. 
She  is  well,  and  cheerful,  and  contented,  still  living, 
as  she  has  always  lived,  in  us  and  for  us.  She  is 
already  rejoicing,  poor  dear  soul,  at  the  thought  of 
having  me  back  with  her  before  many  months  are 
out.  You  may  fancy  the  idea  makes  me  as  happy 
as  her.  But  it  pains  me,  dear  Henriette,  I  confess, 
to  feel  your  labour  and  your  exile  pay  the  price  of 
our  enjoyment.  The  thought  casts  a  kind  of  shadow 
on  my  happiness.  When  will  you  cease  to  be  the  only 
one  of  us  that  does  not  benefit  by  your  own  work? 

Farewell,  my  dearest  Henriette !  I  thank  Heaven 
for  giving  me  your  love  in  compensation  for  my 
many  troubles.  The  confidence  I  can  repose  in  you 
consoles  me  amply  for  the  inevitable  reserve  and 
silence  of  my  daily  life  —  I  count  the  days  that  must 
go  by  before  you  can  receive  this  long  effusion  of 
mine,  and  try  to  calculate  how  soon  I  may  expect 
your  answer.  You  may  fancy  how  much  I  long  for 
it.  Farewell,  once  more.  He  who  inspired  my  love 
for  you  alone  can  realise  how  deep  it  is. 

ERNEST  RENAN, 

Cl.  T.1 

lMClerc  tonsure"  —  tonsured  clerk. 


138  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 


IX 

WARSAW,  May  9,  1844. 

I  have  been  reading  your  letter  over  again,  and  kiss- 
ing it,  my  dearest  dear  beloved  brother :  that  letter  I 
had  longed  for  so  earnestly,  and  welcomed  with  such 
intense  delight !  Alas !  my  Ernest,  too  true  it  is  that 
life,  in  many  a  case  at  least,  has  to  be  spent  among 
people  with  whom  no  intercourse  beyond  the  coldest 
civility  is  possible  —  and  neither  you  nor  I  are  likely 
to  be  satisfied  with  that.  Heaven  grant  that  your 
experience  of  a  life  which  must  be  hard  and  trying 
for  many  years,  in  any  case, — and  to  which  some  men 
never  can  grow  accustomed,  —  may  be  but  temporary ! 
Already  I  keep  reckoning  up  the  months  yet  to  elapse 
before  you  see  our  dear  mother  again,  and  hail  the 
approach  of  that  moment  as  joyfully  as  she  can  her- 
self. To  know  you  two  happy  is  the  greatest  satis- 
faction I  can  feel. 

I  hopelessly  wonder,  dearest  Ernest,  what  passage 
in  any  letter  of  mine  can  have  given  our  mother  the 
idea  of  the  fair  dream  you  mention,  and  concerning 
which  she  too  has  written  me.  No  more  delightful 
plan  could  be  devised,  but  none,  alas!  could,  at  this 
moment,  be  less  practicable.  You  may  rely  on  this, 
my  dear  boy,  I  never  could  have  mentioned  any  date 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  139 

to  our  mother,  seeing   I   have  no  right  to  nurse  the 
smallest  reasonable  hope  of  the  kind  she  means. 

Courage,  patient  waiting,  resignation,  must  still  be 
our  cry.  Far  from  moving  homewards,  I  am  just 
about  starting  off  again  in  the  very  opposite  direction. 
We  are  leaving  Warsaw  for  the  lonely  country  house 
where  I  have  already  spent  two  summers ;  and  though 
it  is  only  sixty  leagues  from  here,  my  heart  is  heavy 
at  the  thought  of  turning  my  back  on  Western  Europe 
and  on  all  I  hold  most  dear.  My  letters,  too,  are 
always  greatly  delayed  in  transit  there,  which  is  a 
severe  trial  to  me.  Except  for  these  two  causes,  I 
shall  regret  nothing  at  Warsaw.  My  life  here  is  as 
quiet  as  it  is  in  the  country,  and  indeed,  since  I  have 
been  in  Poland,  I  have  grown  perfectly  indifferent  as 
to  what  spot  I  live  in.  I  never  meet  a  congenial  soul 
in  any  of  them.  In  consequence  of  this  departure,  I 
must  ask  you,  my  Ernest,  to  direct  all  letters  in  fut- 
ure thus:  Mdae.R., 

Chdteau  de  CUmensow, 

Zamosc,  Poland. 

Will  you  be  good  enough  to  give  the  same  instruc- 
tions to  our  mother  and  to  Alain,  for  I  feel  very 
uneasy  about  any  letters  which  might  arrive  here, 
after  our  departure.  Nothing  can  exceed  the  uncer- 
tainty of  the  postal  arrangements  in  this  country. 

Our  brother  had  already  told  me,  very  briefly,  dear 


140  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

Ernest,  that  you  had  resolved  upon  the  preliminary 
engagement  you  also  mention  in  your  letter.  I  have 
no  right  to  cavil  at  it,  my  poor  dear  boy,  nor  yet  to 
advise  you  on  the  steps  still  lying  before  you;  my 
first  duty,  and  my  chief  desire,  are  to  leave  you  per- 
fectly free  in  every  decision  you  may  have  to  make. 
Why,  oh,  why  must  they  be  taken  at  an  age  when 
you  must  still  perforce  be  so  inexperienced  in  life's 
difficulties  ?  You  will  have  observed,  my  dear,  if  you 
read  my  last  letter  over  again,  that  the  prospect  of 
travel  indicated  to  you  was  very  distant,  and  that, 
indeed,  I  rather  suggested  an  idea  than  pointed  out 
a  course  of  action.  So  it  will  always  be,  my  dear  boy. 
I  shall  tell  you  anything  I  think  worth  your  considera- 
tion, and  you  will  be  perfectly  free  to  decide  after- 
wards as  you  think  best.  I  have  never  had  any 
opinion  of  advisers  who  take  it  ill  if  their  counsels 
are  not  followed. 

The  idea  of  your  accepting  a  professorship  at  St. 
Nicolas,  at  your  early  age,  does  not  recommend  itself 
to  me.  To  make  such  a  position  at  all  advantageous, 
it  should  carry  some  special  facilities  for  continuing 
your  advanced  studies.  Failing  that,  what  would  you 
gain  by  accepting  the  wearisome  duties  of  an  usher, 
or  even  by  taking  an  elementary  Latin  class  ?  Would 
it  not  be  a  pity  thus  to  spend  time  which  might  be  so 
much  more  usefully  employed?  Your  idea  of  going 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  141 

into  our  native  province  and  ripening  the  fruits  of 
your  studies  in  solitude,  is  by  no  means  impracticable. 
If  God  grants  me  life  and  health,  and  His  divine 
support,  you  will  find  me  only  too  glad  to  second  th:s 
and  any  other  project  of  yours. 

It  is  futile,  perhaps,  to  try  to  look  into  the  more 
distant  future.  Circumstances  may  alter  that  so  much ! 
But  let  me  beseech  you,  my  poor  boy,  never  to  join 
any  society  which  would  destroy  your  liberty  of 
action,  thus  denying  you  the  enjoyment  of  your  own 
intellect,  and  parting  you  from  those  who  love  you. 
Never  forget  that  by  the  very  act  of  joining  any  such 
association  you  abdicate  all  right  of  personal  judg- 
ment; and  you  will  frequently  find  yourself  forced 
into  some  action  for  the  corporate  body,  which,  as 
a  private  individual,  you  never  would  have  attempted. 
It  would  be  the  bitterest  sorrow  in  my  life  to  see 
you  forced  into  a  line  unnatural  to  you,  and  driven  to 
take  part  in  squabbles  which,  I  feel  and  hope,  your 
desire  would  be  always  to  avoid.  Dearest  Ernest,  do 
calm  my  saddened  heart  by  often  telling  me  you  are 
resolved  to  keep  your  spirit  pure  and  upright,  that  no 
man  shall  ever  shake  it,  and  that  should  Heaven  be 
pleased  to  reunite  us  I  shall  still  find  you  the  brother 
I  have  loved  so  fondly,  and  whom  I  shall  cherish  to 
my  life's  end. 

Do  me  a  learned  service,  dear  brother!     Will  you 


142  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

kindly  write  me  out  a  list  of  the  chief  Greek  and  Latin 
historians,  with  the  period  each  of  them  covers,  and 
send  it  to  me  as  soon  as  you  can  do  so,  without  incon- 
venience or  fatigue.  I  have  read  several  (in  transla- 
tions, of  course),  but  I  fear  I  may  have  overlooked 
some  important  authors,  and  I  rely  on  you  to  remedy 
my  mistake.  Do  not  let  this  request  astonish  you, 
dear  Ernest ;  alone  and  unaided,  I  have  been  forced  to 
fill  many  a  gap  in  my  original  education,  and  alone, 
too,  I  have  had  to  fit  myself  for  my  present  great 
undertaking.  After  a  considerable  amount  of  histor- 
ical study,  I  have  fallen  back  on  its  original  sources, 
the  genuine  classics,  like  any  lower-form  schoolboy. 
Nothing  daunts  me,  when  the  advantage  of  the  young 
minds  I  have  to  cultivate,  the  accomplishment  of  the 
duty  confided  to  me,  comes  in  question.  And  indeed, 
spending  so  much  time  alone  as  I  do,  study  is  my 
great  consolation,  —  the  only  one  left  me,  perhaps,  in 
this  country  where  habits,  tastes,  and  social  condition, 
everything,  in  fact,  differs  so  utterly  from  my  home 
surroundings.  Often  I  feel  I  would  prefer  to  live 
entirely  in  my  own  room  and  my  pupils'  schoolroom. 
But  that,  unluckily,  is  not  always  possible,  although 
I  do  often  take  advantage  of  the  reputation  for  oddity 
my  love  of  solitude  has  earned  me.  I  could  not  make 
up  my  mind  to  waste  my  time  as  I  see  those  around 
me  waste  it,  nor  spend  long  hours  in  futile  vapid  talk. 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  143 

I  feel  my  letters  often  betray  this  peculiarity  of 
mine.  I  tell  you  scarcely  anything  about  outside 
things.  First  of  all  because  I  am  forced  to  be  very 
circumspect  in  that  particular,  and  also  because  I 
cannot  fancy  your  finding  any  interest  in  descriptions 
of  the  Cossacks  of  every  shape,  and  Orientals  of 
every  shade,  who  pass  incessantly  before  my  sight. 
Sometimes,  in  the  winter,  as  I  watched  long  files  of 
sledges  passing  the  gates  of  this  splendid  house,  I 
used  to  find  myself  wondering  whether  I  could  really 
be  living  in  the  same  hemisphere  as  before.  That 
doubt  has  often  struck  me  since.  Fortunately  for 
me,  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  pay  no  attention 
to  anything  beyond  what  affects  the  advancement  of 
my  pupils'  education.  Nothing  else  has  any  interest 
for  me.  To  serve  those  I  love,  devote  all  my  power 
to  them,  pour  out  my  affections  on  them,  these  are 
the  mainsprings  of  my  life,  the  objects  always  fore- 
most in  my  mind,  and  which  I  follow  with  equal 
keenness  under  every  sky.  Have  no  anxiety  about 
me,  my  Ernest;  personal  matters  very  seldom  affect 
me.  Forgive  this  disjointed  letter.  I  finish  it  on  the 
very  eve  of  our  departure,  and  amidst  all  the  con- 
fusion consequent  upon  it.  At  least  it  will  prove 
the  unchangeableness  of  my  love  for  you,  and  my 
constant  eagerness  to  express  it. 

I   hope   you  will  write   before  the  vacation   opens. 


144  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

Tell  me  when  it  begins,  and  how  long  you  will  be 
able  to  stay  with  our  poor,  dear  mother.  Every  one 
who  sees  her  confirms  what  your  letter  tells  me  of 
her  excellent  state  of  health.  You  will  believe  that 
nothing  short  of  this  unanimity  of  opinion  could  still 
an  anxiety  which  must  be  endured  to  be  appreciated. 
Her  own  letters,  too,  are  calm  and  even  joyful,  when 
she  has  a  hope  of  soon  seeing  you  again.  She  tells 
me  she  is  to  go  and  await  you  at  St.  Malo.  Fare- 
well, my  dearest  Ernest.  Be  sure  the  confidence 
and  affection  your  letter  breathes  have  cheered  and 
strengthened  my  heart.  You  know  they  fall  on  no 
ungrateful  ground,  and  that  the  dearest  affection  of 
your  sister,  your  true  friend,  is  yours  for  ever. 

H.  R. 

P.  S.  —  I  transmit  this  letter  by  the  same  means  as 
I  employed  in  sending  you  the  last.  Do  not  forget 
to  let  our  mother  and  Alain  know  my  address.  You 
will  kiss  them  for  me,  within  two  or  three  months 
from  now! 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  145 


MDLLE.    RENAN,    Chateau    de    Cltmensow,    near 
Zamosc,  Poland. 

PARIS,  July  11,  1844. 

Before  I  join  our  good  mother,  my  dear  excellent 
sister,  I  must  have  another  talk  with  you.  When 
these  lines  reach  you,  I  shall,  I  think,  be  close  on 
meeting  her;  for  my  departure  is  fixed  for  some  day 
between  the  2Oth  and  2  5th  of  this  month.  The 
thought  of  it  has  absorbed  me  for  some  time.  It  is 
the  natural  centre-point  of  all  my  hopes  and  long- 
ings, whenever  I  allow  them  to  follow  their  instinc- 
tive bent.  A  life  of  solitude  has  certain  charms,  no 
doubt,  but  stripped  of  all  those  sweet  affections 
which  feed  the  heart,  and  unduly  prolonged  as  well, 
it  is  a  cruel  torture.  Imagine  that  during  the  last 
ten  months  I  have  never  seen  one  familiar  face  save 
those  of  the  persons  chance  brought  hither  when  I 
came  myself.  A  poor  sort  of  friendship  that,  born 
of  a  connection  utterly  devoid  of  mutual  heart  at- 
traction ! 

I  do  not  complain  of  the  dearth  of  those  uninter- 
esting visitors  who  may  suffice  to  the  happiness  of 
people  the  sole  object  of  whose  exterior  intercourse 


I46  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

is  to  get  rid  of  themselves,  and  escape  the  weariness 
inseparable  from  their  own  personal  reflections.  I 
am  thankful  to  be  rid  of  them.  But  I  do  cruelly 
miss  the  visitors  to  whom  the  purest  and  most  legiti- 
mate affection  binds  me  —  the  delightful  talks  in 
which  soul  speaks  to  soul  as  though  it  spoke  to  it- 
self—  the  kind  of  intercourse,  in  short,  which  God 
permitted  me  while  gradually  teaching  me  to  live  a 
kind  of  life  to  which  I  was  a  perfect  stranger,  and 
the  trials  of  which  I  as  yet  ignored.  But  I  am 
ashamed,  my  dearest  Henriette,  to  talk  of  loneliness, 
when  I  remember  that  you  bear  it  at  its  bitterest, 
without  even  that  annual  rest  which  breaks  the  usual 
tenor  of  my  dreary  life.  I  never  think  of  the  hap- 
piness I  am  shortly  to  enjoy  without  remembering 
that  she  to  whom  I  owe  it  will  herself  be  bereft  of 
it,  for  years,  it  may  be,  yet.  The  thought  pains 
me  deeply,  dearest  Henriette,  and  my  sole  consola- 
tion is  in  hope,  and  in  the  consciousness  of  that 
affection  which  is  the  only  true  reward  of  such  de- 
votion as  yours.  Do  you  remember  how  you  wept, 
five  years  ago,  when  I  was  leaving  you  to  go  and 
see  our  good  old  mother  ?  I  weep  myself  whenever 
I  think  of  it!  Poor  Henriette!  What  shall  we  say 
now  ?  Ah !  that  the  thought  of  you  will  never  leave 
us  through  the  happy  time  now  drawing  near.  Last 
year,  it  was  on  you  that  all  our  conversation  turned. 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  147 

I  must  tell  you,  my  dear  Henriette,  that  since  last 
I  wrote  I  have  made  another  forward  step  in  the 
ecclesiastical  career.  But  it  has  not  cost  me  the 
anxiety  and  hesitation  which  marked  my  first,  of 
which  it  is,  so  to  speak,  the  outcome.  It  adds 
neither  bond  nor  obligation  to  those  of  my  former 
condition,  which  in  itself  indeed  entails  nothing  of 
that  sort.  Therefore  no  special  scruple  was  called 
for.  But  in  future  the  case  will  alter.  The  next 
step,  now  lying  before  me,  is  definite  and  irrevo- 
cable.1 It  is  still  in  the  dim  distance  fortunately;  the 
strictly  minimum  period  before  taking  it  is  a  year, 
and  that  may  be  extended,  I  believe.  I  cannot  think 
of  it  without  terror,  and  when  I  remember  my  past 
anguish,  I  cry,  "  My  God !  my  God !  let  this  cup 
pass  from  me ! "  Nothing  is  so  painful  as  doubt  in 
a  matter  which  must  affect  the  whole  of  one's  future 
life.  Yet,  "not  my  will,  but  Thine,  be  done!"  You 
will  support  me,  will  you  not,  my  Henriette  ?  At  all 
events  by  assuring  me  you  love  me ! 

There  is  one  point,  among  the  considerations  for 
our  future  on  which  our  last  letters  have  touched,  to 
which  I  desire  to  return;  for  I  should  not  at  all  like 
you  to  misunderstand  my  real  feelings  concerning  it. 
They  are  irrevocably  fixed,  and  are  as  follows:  When 
I  expressed  my  inclination  to  a  life  of  study  and  re- 

1  The  subdeaconate. 


148  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

tirement,  in  preference  to  one  involving  the  exercise 
of  the  exterior  functions  of  the  priesthood,  you 
seemed  to  fear  I  might  seek  to  realise  this  project 
by  joining  some  religious  congregation  or  society. 
The  thought  alarmed  you,  and  I  can  well  understand 
it,  for  I  assure  you  I  am  as  averse  as  you  can  be 
to  a  manner  of  life  which  would  absorb  all  my  in- 
dividuality into  an  abstract  body.  Such  a  body  de- 
stroys, as  you  justly  remark,  all  personal  feeling,  and 
forces  its  members  to  do  in  its  service  what  they 
never  would  have  dreamt  of  as  private  individuals. 
My  opinion  on  the  subject  is  a  very  strong  one,  I 
repeat,  but  I  believe  it  to  be  quite  correct.  I  am 
convinced  that  religious  corporations,  useful  as  they 
may  be  at  certain  periods,  and  to  certain  persons, 
are  equally  out  of  place  in,  and  unsuited  to,  others. 
I  am  further  convinced  that  the  present  is  one  of 
the  periods,  and  I  myself  one  of  the  individuals  in 
question. 

To  my  thinking,  an  honest  searcher  after  truth 
must  ever  endeavour  to  elude  a  bondage  which 
makes  it  his  duty  (or  his  necessity  rather,  for  duty 
is  quite  another  thing)  to  adhere  to  the  doctrines  of 
such  and  such  a  school,  rather  than  to  the  truth  his 
own  reason  recommends.  Amidst  the  lively  contro- 
versies now  occupying  public  opinion  in  this  country, 
and  which  I  look  on  as  part  of  the  frivolous  pabu- 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  149 

him  indispensable  to  those  whose  passions  need  some 
special  stimulant  —  while  recognising  that  the  observer 
who  is  able  to  keep  himself  scornfully  outside  them 
may  yet  draw  useful  conclusions  from  them  —  amidst 
these  controversies,  I  say,  which  I  have  carefully 
considered,  I  have  succeeded  in  forming  an  opinion 
(on  religious  societies)  as  far  removed  from  the 
frantic  declamations  of  those  who  love  to  see  mystery 
where  none  exists,  as  from  the  absurd  panegyrics 
lavished  by  those  small  minds  who  see  the  type  of 
sovereign  perfection  in  a  very  human  institution. 

Both  parties  seem  to  me  equally  ignorant  of  the 
two  great  laws  of  human  nature:  ist.  That  whoever 
thinks  to  find  a  human  work  —  under  whatever  name, 
be  it  even  that  of  Jesus  Christ  —  whatever  its  avowed 
object,  even  the  saintliest  —  whatever  means,  even 
the  purest,  serve  its  ends  —  in  which  the  human 
passions,  their  influence  and  their  action,  have  no 
share,  seeks  the  impossible.  2nd.  That  whereas 
humanity  eternally  progresses,  and  such  institutions 
remain  stationary,  it  inevitably  follows  that  those  of 
one  century  must  be  out  of  harmony  with  the  next, 
and  that  to  attempt  to  keep  them  going  is  like  trying 
to  warm  a  corpse,  and  is  a  proof  of  extreme  folly. 
Such  is  my  idea,  and  its  practical  corollary  is  that  I 
must  hold  myself  absolutely  aloof  from  the  passionate 
and  self-interested  discussions  so  eminently  distasteful 


150  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

to  the  faithful  seeker  after  truth,  who  should  never 
pay  such  follies  the  compliment  implied  by  heated 
argument  concerning  them.  Once  they  have  died 
out,  and  I  am  dead,  neither  they  nor  I  will  have 
gained  much  by  their  absorption  of  that  small  modi- 
cum of  calm  which  constitutes  the  chief  charm  of 
our  little  earthly  span,  and  is  so  easily  dissipated. 
Therefore  I  will  keep  clear  of  those  empty  contro- 
versies which  only  divert  mankind  from  the  true 
objects  of  existence,  and  never  allow  myself  to  be  an 
interested  party  to  any  of  them.  But,  my  dear 
Henriette,  I  do  not  look  on  an  aggregation  of  men 
brought  together  by  a  common  object,  and  similarity 
of  occupation,  and  only  united  in  the  bond  of  a 
purely  temporary  and  voluntary  propinquity,  as  a 
regular  religious  society.  A  man  is  not  supposed  to 
abdicate  his  liberty  when  he  joins  a  teaching  body, 
at  a  university,  for  instance.  Well,  I  seek  in  vain 
for  the  symptom  of  any  closer  bond  amongst  the 
members  of  the  societies  to  which  I  have  alluded. 
No  other,  in  fact,  exists. 

However,  dear  Henriette,  certain  events,  the  fore- 
runners probably  of  other  and  more  important  ones, 
which  have  begun  to  shape  themselves  since  my  last 
letter  to  you,  will  probably  and  completely  alter  my 
future  plans.  I  do  not  enlarge  on  them  just  now, 
for  everything  is  still  in  a  mere  hearsay  condition,  as 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  151 

far  as  I  am  concerned,  —  and  besides  the  fulfilment  of 
the  scientific  commission  you  gave  me,  and  which  I 
send  herewith,  obliges  me  to  be  somewhat  curt.  The 
matter  shall  be  the  subject  of  our  next  talk  on  paper. 
I  beg  you  will  forgive  the  confusion  of  the  second- 
ary paragraphs  in  the  notes  I  send  you.  It  was  easy 
to  keep  to  a  fixed  method,  in  dealing  with  the  great 
historians.  But  with  the  cloud  of  lesser  ones,  I 
should  have  had  to  devote  a  large  amount  of  time 
and  care  to  a  mere  work  of  arrangement,  which  I 
felt  your  own  clear-headedness  would  easily  supply. 
May  I  ask  you  to  do  me  a  somewhat  similar  service  ? 
If  you  are  on  friendly  terms  with  any  learned  eccle- 
siastic, would  you  find  out  from  him  what  the  general 
teaching  is,  in  Polish  schools,  and  those  of  neighbour- 
ing countries,  on  the  following  theological  subjects:  — 

I.  Are   the    Dogmatic    Decrees    of   the    Sovereign 
Pontiffs   looked   on   as   rules   of    faith,    infallible   and 
unchangeable  by  their  own   nature,  or  is  the   consent 
of  the  Universal  Church  necessary  to  give  them  this 
weight  ? 

II.  What   is   the    Sovereign    Pontiff's    power   with 
regard  to  the  Canons  of  Discipline,  and  can  he  force 
any   particular   church   to   renounce   its   customs   and 
its  freedom  ? 

III.  In  matters   of   doctrine   and   discipline,  is   the 
Pope  superior  to  the  (Ecumenical  Council  or  not? 


1 52  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

IV.  Has  the  Pope  any  authority,  direct  or  indirect, 
over  monarch s,  in  the  temporal  sense,  and  if  not  how 
are  the  various  incidents  during  the  Middle  Ages, 
when  such  power  was  claimed,  to  be  explained  ? 
Were  they  downright  usurpation,  or  the  outcome  of 
the  public  rights  which  governed  civil  society  at  that 
period  ?  I  am  anxious  to  discover  whether  the 
answers  French  theologians  give  these  questions, 
which  are  known  as  the  Gallic  Doctrine,  are  really 
peculiar  to  themselves.  The  fact  is  very  much  con- 
tested just  now,  and  I  thought  you  might  be  able  to 
throw  some  light  on  it.  You  understand,  of  course, 
that  what  I  desire  to  know  is  the  teaching  in  the 
schools  and  not  the  feeling  of  any  private  individual, 
nor  the  intrinsic  value  set  by  him  on  the  doctrines  set 
forth  above.  My  question  only  relates  to  a  matter 
of  fact. 

We  must  part,  for  the  nonce,  dear  Henriette.  I 
hope  the  happiness  I  shall  have  in  our  dear  mother's 
society  will  be  increased  by  hearing  from  you.  I 
write  to-day  to  say  I  shall  be  with  her  shortly.  My 
sense  of  the  mutual  love  which  swallows  up  the  miles 
between  us,  is  my  only  consolation  for  the  irreparable 
void  your  absence  causes  us. 

Farewell,  beloved  Henriette.  Think  of  the  great 
love  and  tenderness  for  the  best  of  sisters  that  fills 
your  Ernest's  heart.  E.  RENAN. 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  153 


XI 


MDLLE.  RENAN,  Chdteau  de  CUmensow,  Zamosc, 
Poland. 

MY  DEAR  KIND  HENRIETTE,  —  I  too  must  send 
you  a  few  words !  How  happy  I  have  been  since  I 
wrote  you  those  last  lines  from  my  usual  place  of 
residence  !  To  embrace  our  darling  mother ;  to  look 
once  again  on  scenes  which  never  fail  to  rouse  the 
tenderest  association  of  ideas;  to  come  back  to  those 
domestic  habits  which  shed  such  powerful  sweetness 
on  the  soul,  softening  and  yet  not  enervating  it  — 
these  joys  were  more  than  enough  to  cure  the  weari- 
ness caused  by  my  usual  mode  of  life,  and  to  alter  the 
somewhat  severe  cast  of  thought  thereby  induced.  A 
mother's  voice  seems  to  have  a  peculiar  power  to 
soften  everything,  even  when  she  intends  it  least. 
And  where  is  pure  and  disinterested  affection  to  be 
found  save  on  one's  mother's  breast?  It  is  but  just, 
seeing  how  urgently  man's  heart  needs  it,  that  God 
should  provide  for  each  human  being  a  refuge  where 
he  is  sure  to  find  what  he  would  vainly  seek  elsewhere. 

My  mind  has  never  been  so  clear  as  now.  The 
intellectual  faculties  have  some  secret  affinity  with 
those  of  the  affections  and  the  moral  powers,  and 


154  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

rebound  to  every  pressure  which  causes  these  last  to 
suffer  or  rejoice.  The  two  systems  are  meant  to  walk 
abreast,  not  to  supply  each  other's  place.  Study,  by 
feeding  one's  intelligence,  may  soften  the  suffering  of 
one's  starved  affections.  This  is  true  enough,  but  the 
result  is  obtained  by  diverting  the  mind  from  their 
hunger,  not  by  staying  it.  Thanks  be  to  God,  then, 
my  dear  Henriette,  for  having  granted  us  this  blessed 
rest,  this  balm  for  every  ill ! 

I  have  called  a  truce  with  my  dreams  about  the 
future.  It  is  not  that  such  thoughts  never  assail  me, 
except  in  the  course  of  my  ordinary  existence.  I  try 
then  to  master  them,  and  not  let  them  preoccupy  me. 
But  if  they  sometimes  do  come  back  on  me  here,  they 
are  more  like  dreams  than  thoughts.  And  there  is 
no  great  harm  in  dreams,  especially  in  vacation-time. 
I  find  our  good  mother  in  very  good  case.  It  is  won- 
derful how  she  bears  her  loneliness,  great  as  it  is. 
She  has  the  very  happiest  nature  I  have  ever  known. 
And  her  health  seems  to  me  very  satisfactory.  Her 
tender  affection  is  the  one  great  happiness  of  my 
holidays.  I  am  very  fastidious  about  the  persons  on 
whom  I  bestow  my  confidence  and  friendship,  and 
the  characteristics  of  my  neighbours  here  do  not 
tempt  me  to  form  fresh  intimacies  among  them. 

The  neighbouring  clergy,  worthy  as  they  are,  are 
so  limited  in  their  views  that  I  should  fear  any  close 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  155 

or  prolonged  intercourse  with  them  might  end  by 
making  mine  as  narrow.  There  is  one  work  only,  as 
far  as  I  can  see,  for  which  they  are  eminently  fitted, 
and  that  is,  to  preach  a  crusade  against  the  uni- 
versity. They  would  begin  it  to-morrow,  I  doubt  not, 
if  they  could  count  with  certainty  on  finding  fol- 
lowers. However  that  may  be,  their  enthusiastic  and 
disinterested  zeal  is  really  comical.  It  amuses  me 
vastly,  and  has  given  me  opportunity  for  some  curious 
physiological  observations  as  to  the  manner  in  which 
human  opinion  is  formed,  and  the  guileless  fashion  in 
which  simple-minded  men  blind  themselves  to  their 
real  motives. 

The  holiday  task  I  have  set  myself  is  to  carry  on 
my  Hebrew  studies.  What  I  did  last  year  has  enabled 
me  to  vanquish  mere  textual  difficulties  and  to  enjoy 
the  beauty  of  that  pure  and  ancient  literature.  I 
apply  myself  especially  to  its  poetry,  and  above  all 
to  the  Psalms,  the  most  precious  relics  left  us  in  that 
department.  They  are  an  inexhaustible  source  of 
admiration,  and  of  scientific  observation  as  well,  to 
one  who  recognises  them  as  the  earliest  childish  song 
of  the  human  race,  and  their  language  as  that  in 
which  mankind  lisped  its  first  accents.  From  this 
point  of  view  these  ancient  fragments  are  of  price- 
less value,  and  if  any  psychologist  were  to  endeavour 
to  work  out  the  theory  of  the  faculty  of  spontaneous 


156  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

inspiration  —  the  poets  (one  which  has  been  less 
studied  than  almost  any  other)  —  here  it  is  that  his 
materials  should  be  sought.  For,  to  my  thinking, 
this  faculty  was  a  childish  one  which  only  existed  in 
the  ancient  world,  and  those  who  now  call  themselves 
poets  merely  imitate  as  to  its  form.  But  the  thing 
itself,  the  poetic  flame,  is  quenched  utterly,  and  our 
poets  are  driven  to  assuring  us  they  are  inspired  in 
splendid  verse  to  hide  their  lack  of  genuine  inspira- 
tion. Hence  it  is  that,  as  Pascal  says,  honest  folk 
see  no  distinction  between  a  poet's  work  and  an 
embroiderer's. 

I  hope  for  your  answer  both  to  these  few  lines, 
and  to  the  letter  I  sent  you  on  leaving  Paris,  before 
we  leave  for  St.  Malo.  This  will  crown  my  holiday 
delights.  I  have  left  all  business  details  to  our 
mother.  But  we  discuss  them  in  leisurely  fashion  in 
our  walks  and  talks.  May  they  all  end  well !  Fare- 
well, my  dear  good  Henriette  !  You  know  how  few 
human  beings  share  your  Ernest's  heart,  and  you 
know  too  how  large  a  place  in  that  heart  you  hold. 

E.  R. 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  157 


XII 


MDLLE.  RENAN,  Chdteau  de  CUmensow,  Zwierziniec, 
ZamosCy  Poland. 

PARIS,  December  i,  1844. 

I  have  put  off  writing  for  some  time,  my  dear 
kind  Henriette,  because  every  day  I  have  hoped  for 
a  letter  from  you.  I  fancied  I  recollected  that  in 
the  last  I  received  during  my  vacation  you  promised 
I  should  have  a  long  one  during  the  first  days  after 
I  got  back  to  the  Seminary,  early  in  November,  that 
is  to  say.  I  must  have  been  mistaken,  for  I  have 
received  nothing.  As  so  often  happens,  I  must  have 
taken  my  own  wishes  for  realities,  and  my  yearning 
must  have  turned  to  hope.  So  I  wait  on  from  one 
post  to  the  next,  and  the  visiting  hours,  once  so 
indifferent  to  me,  now  rouse  my  impatient  interest, 
because  I  hope  they  may  bring  Mdlle.  Ulliac's  mes- 
senger, who  has  so  often  been  the  bearer  of  good 
news  to  me.  I  still  hope  he  will  come  before  long, 
but  I  will  not  further  delay  the  pleasure  of  a  quiet 
talk  with  you. 

Well,  I  parted  from  our  dear  mother  some  six 
weeks  since.  I  think  I  told  you,  dear  Henriette, 
what  a  joy  it  was  to  me  to  find  her  health  and 


158  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

cheerfulness  unaltered.  With  what  delight  did  I 
hear  her  contrast  her  latter  years  with  the  troubled 
and  sorrow-laden  days  of  her  former  life,  and  attribute 
the  change  under  God  to  her  beloved  children ! 
Truly  our  mother  is  the  most  beautiful  type  of 
motherhood  I  can  conceive.  She  lives  in  us  alone, 
she  identifies  herself  with  us  utterly.  The  only 
difference  I  noticed  in  her  this  last  visit  was  that 
her  loneliness  seems  to  try  her  more  than  heretofore. 
She  never  said  so,  but  several  little  circumstances 
made  me  draw  that  conclusion. 


XIII 

MDLLE.   RENAN,   Chdteau   de   Cttmensow,  Zwierziniec, 
near  Zamosc,  Poland. 

PARIS,  December  i,  1844. 

The  quiet  and  calm  in  which  I  spent  the  holidays 
has  quite  restored  me  from  the  state  of  exhaustion 
into  which  I  fell  during  the  closing  months  of  last 
year.  My  health  has  never  been  better,  and  indeed 
I  am  actually  stronger  now  than  when  I  returned. 
Yet  the  first  days  were  very  trying.  I  was  astonished 
to  find  how  painful  the  ordeal  still  was  in  spite  of  hav- 
ing gone  through  it  so  often  before.  A  whole  world 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  159 

of  sad  and  painful  thoughts,  bitter  and  anxious  too, 
which  had  been  slumbering  within  me  began  to  stir 
once  more.  After  a  day  or  two,  however,  when  I 
had  settled  down  to  work,  my  nerves  grew  calmer. 
Moreover,  dearest  Henriette,  my  position  has  under- 
gone a  change  this  year,  which  seems  to  me  impor- 
tant. Not  so  much  in  itself  as  because  of  the  influ- 
ence I  already  perceive  it  may  have  upon  my  future. 
I  have  adverted  to  my  Hebrew  studies,  and  the  fairly 
rapid  progress  I  have  made  with  them.  In  fact, 
though  I  have  only  been  working  at  it  for  a  year, 
our  Hebrew  professor,  who  finds  the  two  sets  of 
lectures  given  here  simultaneously  more  than  he  can 
manage,  has  induced  the  principals  to  intrust  one 
course  to  me. 

I  had  no  hesitation  about  agreeing  to  his  proposal, 
as  much  for  the  sake  of  the  scientific  advantage  it 
may  bring  me,  as  because  I  saw  at  once  it  might 
lead  to  something  else.  Besides,  it  is  a  principle  of 
mine  always  to  follow  a  path  that  seems  to  open  up 
before  me,  seeing  I  cannot  tell  whither  it  may  not 
lead  me.  Other  people  take  my  view,  and  those  who 
have  congratulated  me  have  not  failed  to  point  out 
that  the  present  Professor  of  Hebrew  at  the  Sorbonne 
began  in  a  precisely  similar  way.  I  have,  indeed, 
already  had  a  hint  about  a  professorship,  or  rather 
an  assistant-professorship  (in  the  first  instance),  of 


160  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

the  same  language,  in  a  sort  of  Theological  Faculty 
just  now  projected  by  Monseigneur  Affre,  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Paris.  But  the  plan  appears  so  vague, 
both  as  to  the  time  and  manner  of  its  execution,  that 
I  hardly  know  what  to  think  of  it.  Yet  I  hear  it 
said  the  College  will  certainly  be  open  within  a  year. 
That  remains  to  be  seen.  You  will  understand  I 
have  not  definitely  refused.  If  the  position  realised 
that  which  I  conceive  possible  without  daring  to  hope 
for  it,  it  would  ensure  me  the  life  of  study  and 
meditation  I  pine  for,  without  forcing  me  to  join 
a  religious  society,  from  which  I  so  greatly  shrink. 

The  professors,  so  I  learn,  would  occupy  an  excel- 
lent position  in  every  way.  Without  putting  much 
confidence  in  this  particular  plan,  I  think  I  may 
certainly  conclude  from  my  present  circumstances, 
from  the  opinions  of  my  fellow-students  and  of  my 
superiors,  and  from  the  reputation  my  success  in  my 
college  career,  reckoned  somewhat  remarkable,  has 
brought  me,  that  I  may  dismiss  all  fear  as  to  the 
nature  of  my  future  life.  And  I  feel  protected  from 
that  too  common  danger  of  self-delusion  by  the  fact  that 
I  have  never  known  myself  err  on  the  side  of  optimism. 
In  any  case,  let  me  repeat,  I  build  no  special  hopes  on 
this  particular  plan,  of  which  indeed  I  am  inclined  to 
doubt,  for  several  reasons.  I  confine  myself  to  deduc- 
ing certain  possibilities  from  the  fact  of  its  suggestion. 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  161 

I  was  not  a  little  astonished  when  the  Superior,  in 
proposing  I  should  undertake  the  duty  I  have  men- 
tioned, expressed  a  desire  I  should  accept  a  pecun- 
iary remuneration,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  I  am 
still  following  the  general  course  of  study,  and  am 
not  supposed  to  be  anything  more  than  an  ordinary 
pupil.  He  first  suggested  a  sum  of  two  hundred 
francs.  You  may  imagine  how  gladly  I  would  have 
accepted,  both  on  your  account  and  mine.  But  his 
proposal  was  couched  in  a  form  which  made  me 
suspect  that  the  society  was  willing  to  do  this,  and 
even  more,  for  me,  in  the  hope  of  my  one  day  ren- 
dering it  valuable  service.  And  I  know  the  same 
thing  is  being  done  in  the  case  of  others  who  do 
intend  to  join  it. 

This  idea  did  not  please  me,  and  I  carefully 
avoided  giving  any  colour  to  such  a  supposition. 
With  this  object  I  refused  to  accept  a  fee.  At  last, 
pressed  by  the  Superior,  I  consented  to  take  a  hun- 
dred francs,  to  cover  the  cost  of  several  important 
books  necessary  to  the  proper  preparation  of  my 
lectures.  To  strike  the  balance  between  us,  he  fixed 
the  sum  at  a  hundred  and  fifty  francs;  I  preferred 
to  sacrifice  fifty,  and  accept  what  is  given  as  a 
friendly  acknowledgment  of  service  rendered,  rather 
than  receive  payment  as  a  future  member  of  the 
society.  An  implied  promise,  nay,  even  a  cause  for 


162  BROTHER  AND.  SISTER 

gratitude  to  any  society  alarms  me,  for  the  only  way 
to  prove  such  gratitude,  it  seems  to  me,  would  be  to 
enroll  oneself  a  member.  It  is  better  to  refuse  a 
benefit  than  to  expose  oneself  to  any  risk  of  not 
being  able  to  acknowledge  it.  I  have  taken  your 
consent  for  granted.  For  indeed,  dear  Henriette, 
the  matter,  in  a  sense,  concerns  you  more  than  me. 

I  too  have  begun  to  work  seriously  at  my  German 
this  year.  I  have  already  made  some  progress,  and 
a  few  days  ago,  following  the  universal  custom,  I 
began  Lessing's  Fables.  On  the  whole,  the  queer 
construction  of  the  language  and  the  anomalies  of  its 
irregular  verbs  are  the  only  real  difficulties  which 
strike  me.  I  get  much  useful  help  from  some  Ger- 
man comrades,  who  advise  me.  I  often  think  of  the 
suggestion  you  made  some  time  ago  as  to  my  travel- 
ling, and  I  should  like  to  be  fitted  to  accept  a  pro- 
posal of  that  nature  should  it  ever  seem  likely  to 
serve  my  purpose.  I  confess  I  incline  more  and 
more  to  the  idea. 

Through  all  my  occupations,  my  dear  Henriette, 
my  heart  turns  lovingly  to  you  and  to  my  mother  in 
search  of  that  repose  it  would  seek  in  vain  elsewhere. 
It  is  a  sad  fate  to  have  to  stifle  one's  faculty  by  means 
of  another,  because  one  has  no  chance  of  developing 
them  all.  God  grant  I  may  never  be  driven  to  it! 
Sometimes  I  am  half  tempted  to  try,  but  the  thought 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  163 

of  you  and  of  my  mother  saves  me.  I  shall  never 
really  be  in  my  normal  condition  until  I  can  unite 
study  and  meditation  with  the  constant  enjoyment  of 
family  affection  and  friendship.  My  last  vacation  was 
perfect  in  this  respect,  and  is  the  pattern  of  what  I 
should  desire  my  future  to  be.  And  what  air-castles 
we  did  build,  my  poor  dear  mother  and  I !  You  were 
always  an  integral  factor  in  every  dream.  Tell  me  in 
your  next  what  your  views  are  as  to  your  own  future, 
and  as  to  returning  to  France.  I  have  often  tried  to 
guess  them,  but  I  have  nothing  satisfactory  to  go  by, 
and  you  always  avoid  the  subject  with  us.  Farewell, 
my  dearest  Henriette.  You  know  the  depth  of  my 
affection  for  you.  It  is  the  only  return  I  can  make 
for  all  you  have  done  for  me.  I  pray  I  may  some 
day  prove  my  gratitude  as  you  would  have  me  do 
it.  —  Your  brother  and  your  friend, 

E.  RENAN. 


XIV 


MDLLE.    RENAN,   Ckdteau  de   Ctimensow,  Zwierziniec, 
near  Zamosc,  Poland. 

PARIS,  February  13,  1845. 

Your  last  letter,  dearest  Henriette,  pained  me  ex- 
ceedingly by  its  account  of  the  anxiety  our  long 
silence  had  caused  you.  It  was  too  bad  indeed  to 


164  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

add  that  suffering  to  all  you  endure  for  us.  Indeed 
I  cannot  conceive  how  we  came  to  neglect  writing  to 
you,  for  our  thoughts  and  conversations  were  always 
full  of  you.  You  may  rely  in  future  on  my  sparing 
you  a  misery  of  which  nobody  knows  the  bitterness 
better  than  myself. 

I  am  a  little  beforehand  in  writing  to-day,  because 
I  want  to  confer  seriously  with  you  on  the  future, 
concerning  which  some  sort  of  decision  is  growing 
imperative.  Up  till  now  I  have  passively  followed 
the  line  traced  by  superior  authority,  and  I  cannot 
as  yet  find  it  in  my  heart  to  regret  having  done  so. 
Surely  a  man  too  young  to  act  for  himself  with  sense 
and  judgment  cannot  be  blamed  if  he  does  not  resist 
a  power  frequently  far  wiser  than  himself,  and  which 
is  sure  to  find  its  own  means  of  enforcing  obedience. 
But  the  time  has  come  at  last  when  duty  drives  me 
to  take  a  personal  share  in  the  decision  of  my 
future,  and  play  an  active  part  in  shaping  my  own 
destiny. 

The  suggestion  I  have  already  adverted  to  of 
offering  me  the  Hebrew  professorship  in  the  Semi- 
nary for  advanced  study,  which  is  to  be  the  outcome 
next  year,  so  men  declare,  of  Monseigneur  Affre"'s 
scheme,  has  taken  further  shape.  The  idea  that  the 
College  would  be  opened  so  soon  seemed  very  chi- 
merical to  me,  and  the  result  has  proved  me  right. 


ERNEST  TO  HENRI ETTE  165 

But  I  have  been  assured  the  offer  will  be  ultimately 
made,  though  only  when  my  time  here  has  expired. 
I  wonder  this  was  not  realised  from  the  first  by 
those  who  spoke  to  me  of  the  plan.  I  assure  you 
it  is  no  disappointment  to  me.  I  am  rather  glad  of 
it,  indeed,  for  I  preserve  my  liberty,  and  besides, 
the  general  characteristics  of  the  proposed  establish- 
ment do  not  attract  me.  There  is  something  bellig- 
erent about  them,  and  I  have  no  taste  for  being  a 
party  man.  On  the  other  hand,  I  see  the  time 
approaching  when  I  shall  be  called  on  to  take  the 
irrevocable  step  connected  with  the  priestly  career. 
Reasonable  probabilities  supported  by  wise  advice 
sufficed  to  guide  my  preliminary  action,  but  absolute 
certainty,  founded  not  on  external  influence  and 
circumstances,  but  on  my  own  internal  convictions, 
come  to  of  my  free  and  personal  will,  has  now 
grown  indispensable.  And  where  am  I  to  find  it? 

The  silence  I  have  kept  upon  these  painful  ques- 
tions seems  to  have  led  you  to  believe  all  my  irreso- 
lution had  disappeared.  Alas !  dear  Henriette,  my 
silence  was  no  true  type  of  my  busy  thoughts.  Yet 
what  was  the  use  of  harping  on  a  trouble  no  human 
power  can  cure  ?  Through  all  this  painful  uncertainty, 
my  one  idea  has  always  been,  not  to  decide,  to  wait 
—  always  to  wait.  Yet  I  begin  to  feel  waiting  is 
out  of  season.  Supposing  I  want  to  retrace  my 


166  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

steps  when  once  my  own  delay  has  closed  every 
door  behind  me  ?  So  I  have  had  to  turn  my  eyes 
towards  some  position  which  will  give  me  present 
freedom  and  future  hope,  while  at  the  same  time  it 
makes  the  transition  easier,  and  leaves  me  some  way 
of  escape  should  my  sense  of  duty  force  me  to  go 
back.  All  my  present  plans  are  directed  to  the 
conciliation  of  those  two  latter  objects,  and  to  you, 
my  dearest  Henriette,  to  whom  I  owe,  and  gladly 
shall  owe,  everything,  I  turn  for  help  in  carrying 
them  out. 

My  thoughts  have  reverted  to  a  suggestion  you 
have  repeatedly  made  me,  of  accepting  some  posi- 
tion which  would  couple  the  advantage  of  avoiding 
hurry  (as  to  my  ultimate  decision)  with  that  of  the 
opportunity  of  studying  life  on  a  wider  stage,  and 
often  in  a  truer  light,  than  I  can  find  in  books,  the 
only  means  I  have  as  yet  possessed  of  studying  it 
at  all.  This  course  would  also  serve  me  to  acquire 
the  knowledge  without  which  a  man  can  hardly  solve 
the  great  problem  of  life.  If  the  plan  is  still  feasi- 
ble, I  believe  this  to  be  the  most  favourable  moment 
for  putting  it  into  execution.  I  am  free  from  any 
special  engagement,  my  mind  is  fairly  well  cultivated, 
I  have  studied  closely,  and  possess  a  good  deal  of 
varied  information.  I  have  reached  an  age  at  which 
the  first  wind  is  not  likely  to  blow  me  where  it 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  167 

listeth,  and  yet  I  have  sufficient  flexibility  of  char- 
acter to  realise  what  is  good  and  beautiful,  wherever 
met,  and  try  to  copy  it.  The  accomplishment  of 
such  a  project  would  fitly  supplement  an  education 
still  incomplete  on  certain  points,  and  be  a  pleasant 
mode  of  passing  out  of  my  training  stage  into  my 
actual  active  life. 

Besides  the  intellectual  advantages  referred  to,  it 
would  be  the  simplest  means  of  inducing  the  supe- 
riors of  this  house  to  accept  a  refusal  which  may 
be  merely  temporary.  Prudence  would  forbid  my 
disobliging  them,  even  if  common  honesty  did  not 
call  on  me  to  show  them  gratitude.  And  then,  too, 
I  naturally  desire  to  relieve  those  persons  who  have 
sacrificed  so  much  to  help  me  as  soon  as  possible. 

But  as  it  was  you,  dear  Henriette,  who  first  sug- 
gested this  idea,  you  will  realise  all  its  advantages 
as  fully  as  I  can.  I  am  quite  ignorant  as  to  the 
nature  of  the  situation  you  then  thought  of  for  me, 
or  how  and  whether  time  may  have  modified  your 
original  plan.  So  I  abstain  from  entering  into  details. 
I  give  you  full  and  free  authority  to  act  for  me. 
Everything  you  have  done,  so  far,  has  been  so  good 
for  me,  that  I  cannot  do  better  than  place  myself 
unreservedly  in  your  hands.  I  need  hardly  tell  you 
that  the  position  which  would  leave  me  the  greatest 
leisure  for  private  study,  or  which  would  only  involve 


168  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

my  helping  others  to  learn  what  would  be  useful  to 
myself,  is  the  one  I  should  prefer.  For  my  own 
intellectual  progress  will  ever  be  my  dearest  object. 
The  subjects  I  would  rather  undertake,  and  upon 
which  I  feel  I  could  impart  considerable  informa- 
tion, are  classical  literature  and  languages,  Oriental 
tongues,  science,  both  mathematical  and  physical,  his- 
tory (though  my  studies  in  that  direction  are  not  so 
deep),  and  above  all  philosophy.  Indeed,  my  knowl- 
edge of  my  own  facility  and  my  information  on 
various  subjects  inspires  me  with  the  confident  hope 
that  I  shall  shortly  be  equal  to  directing  another 
person  in  any  course  of  study  he  may  select.  As 
to  teaching  elementary  classics,  I  could  make  up  my 
mind  to  it  if  necessary.  The  locality  of  my  choice 
would  be  that  in  which  thought  is  most  advanced,  as 
Germany  (the  university  towns),  for  instance,  and  all 
the  more  so  because  I  shall  soon  have  a  pretty  close 
acquaintance  with  the  language  of  that  country,  and 
that  I  have  been  struck  by  the  surprising  harmony 
between  my  own  ideas  and  the  mental  standpoint  of 
the  chief  German  philosophers  and  authors.  I  leave 
the  whole  business,  dear  Henriette,  in  your  maternal 
care.  I  approve  beforehand  of  everything  you  do, 
accepting  whatever  you  may  settle  for  me  as  the  work 
of  a  beneficent  Providence  which  has  always  used  me 
well,  and  chosen  you  for  its  active  instrument. 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  169 

Yet  it  might  be  wiser,  after  all,  to  do  nothing  deci- 
sive as  yet.  I  cannot  quite  reckon  on  what  the  next 
two  or  three  months  may  bring  forth.  Some  proposal 
might  be  made  me  here  which  I  could  not  refuse 
without  an  open  rupture.  If  you  can  give  yourself 
out  as  not  being  certain  of  my  consent^  do  what  you 
will.  If  not,  I  will  undertake  to  give  you  a  definite 
answer  in  a  week  or  two.  Uncertain  as  things  are, 
I  still  desire  to  inform  you  fully  of  them,  so  that  you 
may  advise  me  and  direct  events  accordingly.  I  think 
the  most  propitious  moment  to  enter  on  this  new  phase 
of  existence  would  be  the  opening  of  next  (academic) 
year.  Yet  I  should  not  object  to  spending  a  good 
many  months  of  it  here.  The  facilities  granted  me 
for  attending  various  courses  of  lectures  at  the  Sor- 
bonne  and  the  College  de  France,  make  my  stay 
here  useful  and  very  tolerable. 

What  plans,  dearest  Henriette !  and  all  for  a  future 
I  may  never  see !  The  thought  of  death  haunts  me 
continually,  I  know  not  why.  But  it  does  not  sadden 
me,  fortunately.  I  am  beginning  to  face  life  more 
resolutely,  though  doubts  still  weigh  me  down.  It  is 
so  trying  to  go  onward  in  the  dark,  one  knows  not 
whither.  There  are  moments  when  I  regret  man 
should  have  been  left  what  little  power  he  has  over 
his  own  destiny;  I  would  rather  it  were  utterly  ruled 
for  him,  or  else  entirely  dependent  on  individual 


I7o  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

action;  whereas  now  we  are  strong  enough  to  strug- 
gle against  our  fate,  and  yet  have  not  sufficient  power 
to  direct  it,  so  that  the  shadow  of  liberty  we  possess 
only  serves  to  bring  us  misery.  Then,  again,  I  con- 
sole myself  by  the  thought  that  God  orders  all  things 
for  the  best.  Farewell,  my  dear  kind  Henriette;  my 
hours  of  trouble  are  cheered  and  brightened  by  your 
affection.  Oh,  when  shall  we  be  able  to  tell  each 
other  all  our  thoughts  at  leisure  ?  You  know  how 

sincerely  and  tenderly  I  love  you. 

E.  RENAN. 

Our  mother  is  very  well  and  in  good  spirits.  Dur- 
ing the  holidays  I  mentioned  the  possibility  of  our 
new  plan  to  her,  and  she  did  not  seem  averse  to  it, 
taking  it  to  be  a  mere  temporary  thing.  The  thought 
of  that  beloved  mother  of  ours  is  very  sweet  to  me, 
for  she  is  mixed  up  with  all  my  dreams  of  happi- 
ness. Yet  sometimes  it  breaks  my  heart  to  think 
of  her.  Great  Heaven !  what  would  become  of  her 
supposing  matters  take  a  certain  turn  ?  How  cruel  it 
is  that  the  action  of  a  mere  youth  should  produce 
results  of  such  importance  in  public  estimation.  I 
would  sacrifice  everything,  even  my  life's  happiness, 
to  my  mother.  Everything  save  duty!  I  pray  that 
may  not  force  me  to  what  no  other  power  would  make 
me  do.  Farewell,  beloved  Henriette ! 


THE  CATHEDRAL -TREGUIER 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  171 

XV 

February  28,  1845. 

I  was  in  the  act  of  writing  to  you,  my  beloved 
Ernest,  when  your  last  epistle  was  put  into  my 
hands  some  hours  ago.  I  put  aside  the  three  or 
four  pages  I  had  already  written  to  answer  your 
affectionate  letter,  every  word  and  every  thought  in 
which  has  sunk  deep  into  my  heart.  Dear  much- 
loved  friend !  it  is  twenty-two  years  to-day  since  you 
first  opened  your  eyes  on  a  world  which  has  been 
as  full  of  bitterness  to  you  as  it  has  been  to  me. 
Since  that  moment,  never  an  hour  has  passed  in 
which  you  have  not  been  my  first  and  tenderest 
thought.  Oh,  you  are  right  indeed  to  turn  to  me 
when  grief  oppresses  you!  It  proves  you  understand 
how  much  I  love  you ;  you  pay  back  all  I  have  given 
you  with  usury.  Yes,  my  Ernest,  before  you  go  fur- 
ther in  the  career  you  have  entered,  before  you  take 
another  and  an  irrevocable  step  in  that  direction,  your 
mind,  as  you  justly  feel,  must  be  absolutely  freed 
from  all  exterior  influence,  and  your  decision  must  be 
based  on  your  own  personal  knowledge,  and  come  to 
of  your  own  free  will.  Now,  to  ensure  that  freedom, 
you  must  escape,  for  a  while  at  all  events,  from  the 
atmosphere  in  which  you  have  lived  up  to  the  pres- 


172  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

ent;  and  to  acquire  the  necessary  knowledge,  it  is 
all-important  that  you  should  make  some  acquaintance 
with  the  world  in  which  your  life  has  to  be  spent; 
for  there  are  certain  things  no  book  in  the  world  can 
teach  you.  The  idea  I  suggested  is  not  more  diffi- 
cult nor  impossible  to  realise  now  than  when  first  I 
spoke  of  it,  and  once  I  know  the  plan  is  to  your 
taste,  you  may  rely,  dear  brother,  on  my  leaving  no 
stone  unturned  to  carry  it  out. 

Be  quite  easy  as  to  the  secrecy  which  is  so  imper- 
atively necessary  to  prevent  anything  like  responsi- 
bility for  you,  and  to  avoid  compromising  your  already 
difficult  position.  Everything  shall  be  done  in  my 
name  alone.  I  will  see  you  are  left  entirely  free; 
you  will  not  appear  in  the  matter  at  all.  It  is  I 
who  will  have  planned  and  done  the  whole  thing. 
Further,  so  as  to  guard  against  any  possible  indis- 
cretion, I  will  not,  in  the  first  instance,  anyhow,  make 

use    of    Monsieur    D ,   who    first    mentioned    the 

subject  to  me.  I  have  other  acquaintances  whom  I 
can  very  well  ask  to  oblige  me.  I  will  get  it  done, 
be  sure,  but  without  committing  you  personally,  until 
I  am  certain  of  your  approval  and  consent.  Whether 
I  succeed  or  not,  I  am  firmly  convinced  you  ought 
to  be  quite  free  of  your  present  engagements  for  the 
whole  of  the  next  twelve  months.  Do  you  think 
the  idea  of  your  living  independently  and  studying  in 


HENRI ETTE  TO  ERNEST  173 

Paris  or  abroad  for  a  year  frightens  me  ?  Not  at 
all,  my  dear  Ernest;  and  if  I  do  not  succeed  in  find- 
ing what  I  want  for  you,  I  shall  certainly  come  back 
to  it.  Everything  I  possess  is  at  your  service;  I 
can  afford  even  that  for  you,  and  I  shall  be  too 
happy  to  spend  something  more,  if  it  brings  back  a 
little  calm  to  that  poor  heart  of  yours,  which  I  can 
read  even  from  this  lonely  spot,  and  which  I  know 
to  be  so  full  of  suffering  and  agitation.  My  heart 
ached  at  the  thought  that  Death  was  in  your  mind, 
and  that  its  prospect  did  not  sadden  you.  Alas ! 
dearest,  who  would  desire  to  live !  if  one  thought  of 
oneself  only  ?  But  does  such  love  as  mine  for  you 
count  nothing  in  your  sight?  Do  you  never  think, 
when  you  dwell  with  pleasure  on  such  thoughts, 
of  the  two  women  whose  dearest  hopes  and  tender- 
est  affections  are  centred  on  you  ?  One  of  your 
mothers  indeed  you  have  persuaded  of  your  happi- 
ness, but  does  not  the  other,  she  who  now  weeps 
with  you  so  bitterly,  deserve  that  you  should  gather 
up  your  courage  when  you  think  of  her?  Cheer  up, 
my  Ernest,  at  the  thought  that  you  are  not  alone  in 
the  world,  that  you  have  a  sister,  on  whom  also  fate 
has  laid  its  heavy  hand,  who  is  ready  to  share  your 
sorrows  with  you,  softening  them  as  far  as  is  permitted 
to  her,  and  who  will  always  find  her  sweetest  consola- 
tion in  your  love.  I  have  played  Cassandra's  dreary 


I74  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

part  in  all  this  business  of  yours.  I  foresaw  and 
foretold  the  cruel  doubts  which  now  assail  you. 
Nobody  would  believe  me,  and  I  was  not  strong 
enough  to  fight  it  out  alone. 

No,  dear  child,  no ;  public  opinion,  blind  and  un- 
just though  it  may  be,  is  not  so  cruel  as  to  attach 
a  responsibility,  the  thought  of  which  draws  such  a 
bitter  cry  from  you,  to  the  action  of  a  youth.  I 
have  known  several  honourable  and  much-respected 
men  who  shrank  from  the  fetters  now  proposed  to 
you,  and  nobody  has  dreamed  of  making  their  deli- 
cate conscientiousness,  too  rare,  alas !  into  a  crime. 
What  honest  man  could  dare  it  now-a-days,  when 
those  who  should  only  speak  the  words  of  peace 
and  goodwill  are  so  often  found  in  the  arena  of 
party  quarrelling  and  strife?  So  do  not  let  that 
thought  dismay  you.  I  do  not  desire  to  suggest 
or  advise  a  rupture,  but  should  you  be  driven  into 
one  by  your  convictions  and  your  own  conscience, 
fear  not  that  the  only  people  whose  opinion  is  worth 
a  thought  will  blame  you. 

Do  not  let  pecuniary  difficulties  trouble  you  either. 
I  am  prepared  to  remove  them  all,  at  least  in  so  far 
as  my  modest  means  permit  me.  As  to  the  matter 
of  finding  you  some  other  outlook,  your  brother  and 
I  will  help  you  in  that  too,  and  we  should,  I  hope, 
succeed,  not  perhaps  to  the  full  extent  of  my  de- 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  175 

sire;  but  after  all,  my  Ernest,  would  not  any  posi- 
tion ensuring  food  and  independence,  those  two 
prime  necessities  of  existence,  be  welcome,  for  a 
time  at  all  events  ?  Once  more  I  say  it,  dear  brother, 
I  do  not  desire  to  incite  you  to  any  particular  course; 
I  am  only  anxious — this  is  indeed  my  paramount  ob- 
ject—  that  you  should  have  two  years'  freedom,  dur- 
ing which  you  may  judge  calmly  of  the  proposal  now 
before  you.  If  after  that  you  desired  to  take  up 
your  old  life  again,  I  should  not  have  a  word  to  say, 
seeing  you  would  do  it  of  your  own  personal  will  and 
knowledge.  I  cannot  think  such  an  arrangement 
would  cost  our  mother  a  tear,  for  I  can  conceive 
nothing  more  precious  to  her  than  your  repose  and 
peace  of  mind.  Besides,  as  you  have  realised  al- 
ready, when  a  thing  becomes  a  duty,  every  other  con- 
sideration, however  delicate,  must  bow  to  its  imperious 
law.  When  it  becomes  necessary,  we  can  canvass 
this  tender  and  most  important  point  more  amply. 

I  do  not  think  it  necessary,  dear  brother,  to  sum 
up  what  I  have  expressed  so  fully  to  you.  You 
realise,  I  trust,  that  you  have  my  full  support  and 
loving  help  whatever  happens.  I  flatter  myself  I 
foresee  every  probable  difficulty,  and  should  others 
arise,  they  would  find  me  ready  to  face  them  with 
fresh  courage.  So  do  not  be  disheartened,  my  be- 
loved child.  Life  is  full  of  hard  trials.  Yours  have 


176  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

been  early  and  bitter.  But  remember  you  are  not 
left  alone  to  bear  them.  Whenever  you  think  any 
indiscretion  concerning  the  steps  I  am  about  to  take 
for  you  less  likely  to  cause  trouble,  let  me  know,  so 
that  I  may  ask  the  help  of  the  person  who  first  ad- 
vised my  inducing  you  to  leave  an  interval  of  time 
between  finishing  your  studies  and  taking  vows. 
Until  you  give  me  leave,  I  will  not  mention  it  to 
him ;  I  will  work  through  others.  But  I  think  that 
even  in  his  case  I  could  make  a  preliminary  inquiry 
without  compromising  you  in  any  way.  I  will  see 
about  it.  You  understand,  of  course,  that  I  have 
several  strings  to  my  bow,  and  that  in  any  case  you 
will  have  leisure  for  private  study.  Ernest,  dear 
child,  would  I  could  see  you,  if  only  for  an  hour!  I 
know  you  are  borne  down  with  sadness  and  anxiety, 
and  I  am  hundreds  of  miles  away  from  you.  Oh, 
my  God,  bestow  on  him  the  comfort  I  am  not  there 
to  give !  Speak  words  of  consolation  to  his  heart, 
grant  him  Thy  succour  and  protection ! 

You  will  easily  conclude  from  this  letter  of  mine 
how  anxiously  I  shall  wait  for  news  of  you.  Write 
to  me,  then,  whenever  it  is  possible,  and  write,  above 
all,  should  any  fresh  sorrow  come  to  darken  your 
soul.  I  seem  to  anticipate  nothing  now  but  trouble. 

I  had  news  of  our  mother  on  the  very  day  which 
brought  me  your  letter  of  December  ist,  and  to-day 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  17? 

again  I  have  had  a  letter  from  each  of  you.  She 
says  she  is  well,  very  well  indeed,  and  a  line  from 
Emma  still  [further  sets  my  mind  at  rest  as  to  her 
health  and  her  surroundings.  The  previous  post  had 
brought  me  news,  too,  of  our  brother  and  his  wife. 
They,  at  all  events,  are  happy.  May  they  always 
remain  so!  Give  our  mother  news  of  me.  Tell  her 
I  kiss  her  fondly,  and  that  I  have  her  letter,  and 
wait  a  little  before  answering  it,  as  she  will  know  I 
am  well  through  you.  It  is  very  late,  dear  child, 
and  yet  I  find  it  hard  to  say  good-bye.  Farewell ! 
Be  of  good  courage  and  trust  in  those  who  love  you. 
You  cannot  be  utterly  miserable  in  life  while  you 
possess  such  affection  as  that  I  bear  you.  I  have 
poured  my  whole  existence,  my  Ernest,  into  yours. 
They  shall  never  be  parted  now,  believe  me.  —  Yours 
ever,  and  with  my  whole  soul,  H.  R, 


XVI 

MDLLE.  RENAN,  Chdteau  de  CUmensow,  Zvuierziniec, 
near  Zamosc,  Poland. 

PARIS,  April  n,  1845. 

How  appropriately  your  last  letter  arrived,  my  dear 
good  sister,  to  comfort  my  poor  heart  and  raise  my 
hopes.  No,  indeed,  God  has  not  forsaken  me  while 

N 


178  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

He  spares  your  faithful  generous  love  to  me.  So  set 
your  mind  at  rest,  dear  Henriette,  as  to  the  secret 
suffering  and  cruel  perplexity  your  heart  has  guessed 
in  mine.  I  am  too  straightforward  in  my  dealings 
with  you  to  deny  my  soul  has  been  most  severely 
tried,  but  your  affection,  so  tenderly  and  effectually 
expressed,  suffices  to  temper  all  its  sorrows.  And 
indeed,  dear  Henriette,  I  never  absolutely  lost  every 
gleam  of  hope,  and  even  in  those  rare  moments  when 
death  seemed  the  only  possible  solution  of  all  my 
ills  —  well,  even  then  there  was  a  certain  calm  in  the 
recesses  of  my  inmost  being.  It  is  at  such  moments 
that  one  feels  the  blessing  of  being  capable  of  ele- 
vated thought.  If  happiness  were  man's  sole  end, 
life  would  be  unendurable  by  those  to  whom  fate 
grudges  it.  But  when  one's  affections  are  set  on 
things  above,  the  tempests  of  these  lower  regions  toss 
one  less  sorely.  I  drew  consolation  from  the  thought 
that  I  was  suffering  for  conscience  and  for  virtue's 
sake.  The  figure  of  Jesus  in  the  Gospels,  so  pure, 
so  noble,  so  calm,  so  far  beyond  the  comprehension 
of  his  devoutest  adorers,  was  especially  supporting  to 
me.  When  that  sublime  ideal  of  suffering  and  virtue 
was  conjured  up  before  me,  I  felt  my  strength  return, 
and  I  was  ready  even  to  suffer  again.  "My  God, 
if  it  be  possible,  let  this  cup  pass  from  me.  Never- 
theless not  my  will,  but  Thine,  be  done." 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  179 

I  must  begin  by  telling  you,  dearest  Henrietta, 
that,  in  accordance  with  your  advice,  and  with  what 
appeared  to  me  my  duty,  I  have  refused  to  become 
a  subdeacon  this  year,  as  was  suggested  to  me. 
This  step,  as  you  are  perhaps  aware,  is  looked  on 
as  irrevocable.  I  am  convinced  my  action  in  the 
matter  will  have  no  disagreeable  result.  Before  be- 
ginning to  discuss  our  plans,  I  should  like  to  com- 
plete the  picture  I  have  already  given  you  of  my 
present  condition  of  mind,  so  that  you  may  thereby 
direct  the  measures  you  are  good  enough  to  take  on 
my  behalf.  I  do  not  remember  ever  having  set  forth 
the  reasons  which  have  made  me  cease  to  incline 
towards  the  ecclesiastical  career.  I  should  like  to  do 
so  to-day  with  all  the  clearness  of  a  frank  and  up- 
right nature  addressed  to  an  intelligence  capable  of 
understanding  it.  Well,  here  it  is  in  a  nutshell.  I 
do  not  believe  enough.  While  the  Catholic  faith  was 
the  incarnation  of  all  truth  to  me,  its  priesthood  was 
invested  in  my  eyes  with  a  brilliant  fascination,  com- 
pact of  dignity  and  beauty.  Though  some  accidental 
circumstances,  merely  human,  may  have  somewhat 
checked  the  spontaneous  impulse  of  my  soul,  they 
were  mere  clouds,  which  passed  away  as  soon  as  I 
came  to  understand  that  every  condition  of  life  in- 
volves such  trials,  and  some  far  worse  ones.  At  this 
very  moment  I  am  disposed  to  scorn  them  more  than 


i8o  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

ever,  and  if  God  were  to  grant  me  that  divine  inspi- 
ration which  puts  its  finger  on  the  truth  and  makes 
all  doubt  impossible,  from  that  instant  out  I  would 
consecrate  myself  to  the  service  of  Catholicism,  and 
would  face,  not  death  indeed  —  for  in  these  days 
that  does  not  enter  the  question  —  but  scorn  and 
reproach  of  every  kind  to  defend  a  cause  which  had 
gained  my  full  conviction  of  its  truth. 

But  all  this  time  my  brain  was  working  desperately. 
Once  roused,  my  reason  demanded  its  legitimate 
rights,  which  every  time  and  every  school  of  thought 
have  granted.  Then  I  fell  to  verifying  Christian 
truth  on  rational  grounds.  God,  who  sees  the  secrets 
of  my  heart,  knows  whether  I  did  it  faithfully  and 
carefully.  Who,  indeed,  would  dare  to  pass  light  and 
trifling  judgment  on  doctrines  before  which  eighteen 
centuries  have  knelt?  If  I  had  any  weakness  to 
contend  with,  it  was  that  I  was  favourably  rather 
than  hostilely  inclined  towards  them.  Had  I  not 
everything  to  make  me  lean  towards  being  a  Chris- 
tian —  my  future  well-being,  long  habit,  the  attractive 
power  of  the  teaching  in  which  I  had  been  brought 
up,  which  had  tinged  every  idea  in  my  existence  ? 
But  all  had  to  give  way  when  once  I  saw  the  truth. 
God  forbid  I  should  say  Christianity  is  false,  that 
word  would  prove  my  intelligence  very  limited.  Un- 
truth could  never  bear  so  fair  a  fruit.  But  it  is  one 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  181 

thing  to  say  it  is  not  false,  and  quite  another  to 
assert  its  absolute  truth,  at  least  as  those  who  profess 
to  be  its  interpreters  understand  it. 

I  shall  always  love  it  and  admire  it.  It  has  been 
my  childhood's  food,  my  boyhood's  joy.  It  has  made 
me  what  I  am;  its  moral  law  (I  mean  that  of  the 
Gospels)  will  always  rule  my  life.  I  shall  never 
cease  to  loathe  those  sophists  (for  such  do  exist)  who 
attack  it  by  calumny  and  dishonest  means.  They 
understand  it  even  less  than  those  who  follow  it  in 
blind  obedience.  Above  all,  Jesus  will  always  be  my 
God.  But  when  from  this  pure  Christianity  (which 
really  is  reason  personified)  we  come  down  to  the 
narrow  shabby  ideas,  to  all  the  mythical  stories,  that 
fall  to  pieces  at  the  touch  of  candid  criticism  .  .  . 
Henriette,  forgive  me  for  saying  this  to  you !  These 
thoughts  do  not  express  my  absolute  opinion,  but  I 
am  full  of  doubt,  and  it  is  not  in  my  power  to  see 
things  other  than  as  they  appear  to  me.  And  yet 
they  tell  me  I  must  accept  the  whole  thing,  that 
unless  I  do  I  am  no  Catholic!  Oh,  my  God,  my 
God !  then  what  am  I  to  be  ?  Here  you  see  my  con- 
dition, my  poor  Henriette.  .  .  .  All  these  specula- 
tions are  nothing  as  between  you  and  me.  But  I 
want  you  to  understand  my  position.  Yes,  I  say  it 
again,  this  is  the  one  bar  to  my  taking  orders.  Hu- 
manly speaking,  it  would  suit  me.  The  life  would 


1 82  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

not  be  very  far  removed  from  that  I  should  lead  in 
any  case ;  it  would  ensure  me  a  future  quite  in  ac- 
cordance with  my  tastes;  everything  about  it  would 
seem  to  unite  in  making  matters  easy  to  me.  I  may 
even  say  to  you  that  the  reputation  I  have  already 
acquired  would  end  by  raising  me  above  the  insipid 
common  herd.  But  duty  comes  before  everything. 
My  mother !  that  is  the  one  thought  that  breaks  my 
heart.  But  there  is  no  help  for  it. 

Let  us  turn  to  our  plans,  dear  Henriette.  I  think 
you  should  go  forward,  but  gently,  and  above  all  not 
letting  my  action  appear  as  anything  but  a  matter  of 
delay  in  certain  quarters.  This  is  really  true  in  fact, 
and  if  I  had  to  make  a  decided  retrograde  step,  I 
would  yet  wait  awhile.  Supposing  I  did  not  so  wait, 
and  that  further  reflection  brought  a  revulsion  of 
opinion  with  it,  what  should  I  do  ?  I  will  never  ac- 
cept your  proposal  of  a  year  of  independent  study. 
God  knows  the  idea  in  itself  is  pleasing,  but  I  should 
be  too  wretched  at  the  thought  of  all  it  would  cost  you. 

No,  dearest  Henriette,  I  am  very  well  off  here, 
where  I  am  treated  with  every  kindness.  And  I 
can  conscientiously  stay  on,  because  I  only  doubt  as 
yet,  and  if  all  the  doubters  were  to  depart,  the  place 
would  soon  be  very  empty. 

An  ordinary  tutorship  would  only  suit  me  in  so  far 
as  it  offered  facilities  for  my  own  intellectual  improve- 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  183 

ment ;  for  otherwise  it  would  not  do  me  much  future 
service.  I  have  sometimes  thought  of  graduating  at 
the  University.  A  few  weeks  of  study  would  suffice 
to  ensure  my  Bachelor's  degree.  But  I  have  my 
doubts  about  the  University.  Not  that  I  agree  with 
the  exaggerated  abuse  I  hear  some  people  shower  on 
it,  but  I  know  there  is  a  good  deal  of  inquisitorial 
interference,  and  that  everything  there  goes  by  favour. 
I  do  not  care  to  struggle  out  of  one  bondage  only  to 
submit  myself  to  another.  I  have  lately  perceived 
what  may  be  another  opening  for  me.  I  go  twice  a 
week  to  M.  Quatremere's  lectures  on  Oriental  lan- 
guages at  the  College  de  France.  As  he  has  only  four 
or  five  pupils,  I  soon  made  his  acquaintance,  helped 
thereto  by  an  introduction  from  our  chief  Hebrew 
professor  at  the  Seminary,  who  has  scientific  relations 
with  him.  As  he  is  practically  at  the  head  of  his  own 
department  of  study  in  France,  I  should  hope  he 
might  push  me  in  it,  if  he  chose.  It  is  one  which  I 
should  especially  like,  as  I  have  made  considerable 
progress  in  it.  But  I  should  not  settle  on  any  of 
these  plans  without  studying  them  more  closely. 
That  would  be  rendered  quite  possible,  if  you  succeed 
in  carrying  out  the  project  you  are  now  working  at  for 
me.  All  the  rest  must  depend  on  that.  So  I  just 
wait,  dear  Henriette,  to  hear  the  result  of  your  efforts. 
So  long  as  the  authorities  of  this  Seminary  and  my 


184  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

mother  remain  in  ignorance,  and  that  the  affair  takes 
the  aspect  I  have  already  mentioned,  that  of  mere 
delay  and  self-examination,  we  need  have  no  fears. 
Would  I  had  time  to  tell  you  all  my  thoughts !  It 
makes  me  miserable  to  think  it  takes  us  a  whole 
month  to  exchange  a  single  idea!  Farewell,  my  dear 
good  Henriette;  on  you  rest  all  my  hopes  of  happi- 
ness. May  I  some  day  be  able  to  repay  all  you  have 
done  for  me !  The  uncertainty  of  my  future  saddens 
me  deeply.  At  all  events  my  deepest  tenderness  is 
yours.  It  is  the  only  return  I  am  absolutely  sure  of 

making  you. 

E.  RENAN. 

XVII 

June  I,  1845. 

Nothing  can  increase  the  love  I  bear  you,  my  be- 
loved Ernest.  But  had  that  been  possible,  your  last 
letter  would  have  been  the  surest  means  to  do  it.  Yes, 
my  dearest,  tell  me  your  full  mind  on  every  subject, 
unfailingly  and  completely,  and  be  very  sure  your 
feelings  will  not  only  be  understood,  but  shared,  and 
with  the  tenderest  sympathy.  It  is  a  month  already 
since  this  last  precious  proof  of  your  confidence 
reached  my  hands,  and  if  I  have  not  yet  told  you  all 
I  felt  on  receiving  it,  dear  boy,  it  is  because  I  de- 
sired to  wait  for  the  answer  to  a  letter  I  had  sent  to 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  185 

Vienna,  and  in  which  I  asked  a  resident  there,  who  is 
quite  devoted  to  my  service,  to  assist  me  in  taking 
certain  steps  which  I  detailed  to  him.  I  have  that 
answer  now,  and  will  shortly  refer  to  it.  First  of  all, 
dear  Ernest,  I  must  tell  you  that,  guided  by  your  last 
letter,  I  have  decided  not  to  apply  to  Monsieur 

des  .     What  we  look  at  from  the   point   of   view 

of  our  hearts  and  consciences  is  to  him,  as  to  many 
others,  a  mere  matter  of  expediency.  I  found  this 
hard  to  believe,  but  I  have  had  to  submit  to  proofs. 
I  could  not  reckon  on  his  discretion  with  regard  to 
the  people  about  you;  indeed,  I  am  pretty  sure  he 
would  have  spoken  to  them  in  the  very  first  instance. 
I  therefore  turned  my  attention  to  another  quarter, 
and  the  answer  just  received  announces  that  prompt 
steps  have  been  taken,  the  result  of  which  we  have 
now  only  to  await.  Keep  your  mind  easy.  You  do 
not  appear.  Everything  has  been  done  in  my  per- 
sonal name,  and,  whatever  comes  of  it,  you  are  in  no 
way  bound.  The  whole  thing  is  being  carried  on,  as 
such  a  business,  dear  Ernest,  should  be,  with  the 
utmost  prudence  and  circumspection. 

Now,  my  dear,  let  us  come  back  to  your  letter, 
and  let  us  consider  whether,  according  to  what  you 
tell  me,  the  idea  of  a  tutorship  is  the  best  for  you. 
How  could  I  blame  you,  dear  Ernest,  because  there 
is  a  doubt  in  your  mind?  Does  not  my  own  experi- 


186  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

ence  teach  me  that  we  have  no  right  to  refuse  to 
hearken  to  what  our  conscience  tells  us,  what  our 
love  of  truth  inspires  ?  Nay,  more ;  once  that  voice 
of  conscience  speaks,  we  cannot  close  our  ears  —  we 
must  obey  its  command.  So,  my  poor  boy,  you  may 
be  certain  nobody  can  sympathise  in  all  you  confide 
to  me  better  than  I. 

I  will  say  nothing  as  to  the  source  of  all  your 
agitation,  for  I  sincerely  believe  that  in  such  a  deli- 
cate matter  every  external  influence,  even  that  of  a 
man's  nearest  and  dearest,  should  vanish  and  be 
dumb. 

So  I  take  up  the  question  at  the  point  where  your 
mind  strikes  me  as  having  been  at  the  moment  your 
last  letter  was  written,  and  I  confess  I  can  hardly 
think,  according  to  that  glimpse  of  it,  that  you  can 
ever  go  back  to  your  original  views  and  early  ten- 
dencies. When  certain  ideas  have  been  roused, 
they  always  leave  some  trace,  and  the  very  slightest 
trace,  my  Ernest,  should  suffice  to  stop  you  short. 
This  conviction  leads  me  to  inquire  whether  a  tutor- 
ship, advantageous  as  it  certainly  would  be  at  pres- 
ent, would  be  as  much  so  for  your  future?  I  decide 
nothing;  I  merely  submit  the  considerations  raised 
by  this  question,  so  all-important  for  us  both,  to  your 
own  judgment.  Such  a  position  would  have  the 
great  advantage  of  restoring  you  your  liberty  of 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  187 

thought  and  action  without  shock,  disturbance,  or 
rupture,  perhaps  even  without  formal  explanation,  for 
a  time,  at  all  events.  It  would  also  give  you  that 
opportunity  we  have  so  often  discussed,  of  learning 
and  watching  life  on  a  wider  stage,  and  perfecting 
your  studies  by  dint  of  comparison.  But  if,  as  I, 
dear  Ernest,  am  disposed  to  think,  you  are  tending 
towards  a  different  career  from  that  on  which  some 
would  fain  have  seen  you  embark,  I  fear  a  tutorship 
may  debar  you  from  entering  any  other  line,  while 
in  itself  offering  only  a  very  limited  outlook.  You 
speak  of  your  Oriental  studies,  of  your  acquaintance 
with  M.  Quatremere,  of  the  possibility  of  his  help- 
ing you  to  some  advancement  in  that  direction.  Is 
there  no  danger,  dear  Ernest,  that  if  you  went  far 
away  you  might  break  off  relations  with  the  learned 
professor  you  mention,  and  make  it  impossible  to 
renew  the  acquaintance  ?  I  fear  it,  I  must  say, 
and  that  reason  especially  prevents  my  desire  for 
the  success  of  my  present  efforts  being  very  keen. 
The  course  of  independent  study  I  suggested  to 
you,  and  after  which  I  still  hanker,  would  allow  of 
the  continuance,  and  even  of  the  increase,  of  this 
intercourse. 

It  would,  I  know,  be  symptomatic  of  possible  rupt- 
ure in  the  eyes  of  those  whose  interest  is  all  in 
favour  of  keeping  their  hold  on  you,  and  who  would 


1 88  BROTHER  AND  SISTEk 

be  sure  to  take  fright  at  once.  I  ask  your  careful 
consideration  of  these  two  ideas,  dear  Ernest.  They 
may  be  summed  up  thus.  A  tutorship  would  never 
give  rise  to  any  suspicion  of  hesitation  on  your  part, 
and  it  would  be  very  easy,  after  the  lapse  of  two  or 
three  years,  to  prepare  every  one's  mind,  even  our 
mother's,  for  a  change  which  might  be  more  shock- 
ing if  it  were  sudden.  But,  granting  the  alteration 
in  your  ideas  to  be  fairly  decided,  would  not  such 
an  occupation,  causing  you  the  loss  of  two  or  three 
years,  make  any  other  career  difficult  of  attainment  ? 
Consider  this,  my  dear,  my  excellent  Ernest,  while 
my  friends  are  looking  about  them,  and  let  me  know 
all  your  thoughts  and  feelings  without  the  slightest 
reserve.  As  to  the  delicacy  which  prevents  your  ac- 
cepting my  offer  regarding  your  studying  independ- 
ently, let  me  argue  that  the  ensuring  of  your  future 
is  my  first  thought,  my  dearest  wish,  the  one  aim  of 
all  my  labour.  How,  then,  can  the  consideration  of 
a  trifling  outlay  affect  me,  when  I  remember  your 
whole  life  depends  on  it?  A  steady  and  hard-work- 
ing youth  can  live  for  a  year  in  Paris  on  twelve 
hundred  francs.  If,  to  ensure  your  future,  that  sum 
had  to  be  doubled,  or  even  trebled,  believe  me,  dear 
brother,  I  should  not  feel  a  moment's  hesitation ;  I 
should  be  too  overjoyed  to  see  the  way  clear  before 
you.  All  this,  of  course,  would  be  absolutely  between 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  189 

ourselves.  Have  we  not  agreed  long  since  to  hold 
all  things  in  common  ? 

Our  mother  writes  me  you  have  decided  not  to 
take  any  step  towards  irrevocable  vows  this  year. 
I  assure  you  solemnly  this  neither  surprises  nor  up- 
sets her.  She  will  easily,  with  time,  be  led  to  take 
other  views  for  you,  and  for  that  purpose  your  tem- 
porary residence  abroad  would  be  of  special  service; 
yet,  dear  Ernest,  it  would  not  do  to  turn  our  backs 
on  any  other  plan  merely  on  account  of  this  con- 
sideration. I  cannot  believe  our  mother  would  take 
a  change  of  resolution  on  your  part  as  hardly  as  you 
fear.  Having  always  foreseen  what  has  happened,  I 
have  repeatedly  told  her  she  must  expect  it,  and  she 
has  invariably  replied  that  her  greatest  desire  was 
that  you  should  act  in  perfect  independence.  So 
pray  be  less  uneasy  on  that  head ;  and  besides,  dear 
friend,  you  must  remember  this  is  a  matter  on  which 
there  can  be  no  quibbling.  "  Duty,  sublime  word ! 
thou  profferest  no  pleasant  thing  to  man !  Thou 
speakest  of  sacrifice  alone,  and  yet  alone  thou  teach- 
est  him  his  dignity,  his  freedom ! "  Do  you  recog- 
nise Kant  in  this  maxim  ? 

I  write  on  my  arrival  at  Warsaw,  where  I  am 
again  for  five  or  six  weeks.  The  journey,  the  trouble 
of  settling  down,  the  interruptions  of  town-life,  have 
all  added  to  my  work  and  delayed  my  letter,  which 


190  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

distresses  me  much,  my  Ernest,  when  I  think  how 
you  are  longing  for  it.  I  write  amidst  constant 
interruption,  for  my  most  longing  desire  is  to  send 
you  a  word  or  two  of  quiet,  tender  affection.  But  I 
do  thank  you,  dear  brother,  for  having  hearkened  to 
my  voice  and  that  of  your  own  conscience,  and  re- 
fused to  take  the  engagements  which  were  being 
already  pressed  upon  you.  I  dare  not  say  more. 
My  letter  is  very  reticent,  because  I  am  convinced 
the  privacy  of  my  correspondence  is  not  respected. 
May  God  and  your  own  reason  inspire  you.  May 
your  love  of  what  is  good  and  true  suggest  the 
counsels  I  am  too  far  away  to  give  you.  Ernest, 
will  the  time  ever  come  when  there  shall  be  free 
and  unconstrained  intercourse  between  these  two 
hearts  of  ours,  which  will  understand  each  other  so 
well,  and  so  delight  in  their  mutual  support  and 
enlightenment  ?  What  a  fair  dream !  Farewell,  my 
well  beloved.  Believe  you  are  always  in  my  thoughts. 
Believe  I  watch  over  you  with  the  tenderest  anxiety, 
the  most  devoted  affection.  —  Yours  always,  and  with 

all  my  heart, 

HENRIETTE  REN  AN. 

I  hope  this  letter  will  reach  you  without  delay,  as 
I  post  it  in  Warsaw.  I  shall  be  here  till  towards 
July  loth ;  so  if  you  write  to  me  in  the  course  of 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  191 

June    or    early    in     July,    you    must    address    your 

letter :  — 

Mdlk.  R., 

Zamoysky  Palace, 

Warsaw. 

Manage,  my  dear,  so  that  I  have  your  answer 
before  I  go  back  to  the  country.  I  will  let  you 
know  as  soon  as  I  have  any  news  about  what  is 
being  done  for  us  in  Germany.  If  you  do  not  feel 
certain  about  my  direction  after  2nd  or  3rd  July,  use 
the  Warsaw  address.  If  I  am  gone,  my  letters  will 
be  sent  after  me;  and  they  must  come  this  way  in 
any  case.  —  Affectionate  greetings  again,  dear  Ernest. 


XVIII 

MDLLE.  RENAN,  Zamoysky  Palace,  Warsaw, 
Poland. 

PARIS,  July  21,  1845. 

I  thank  my  God,  dear  Henriette,  for  giving  me 
one  human  being  who  understands  me !  Yes,  in  you 
alone  I  find  the  perfect  comprehension  of  my  mental 
state  which  guesses  the  delicate  shades  I  cannot 
express,  and  the  honest  broad-minded  appreciation 
that  never  seeks  to  decry  intentions  which  I  sincerely 
believe  pure,  though  many  people  will  interpret  them 


192  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

so  ill.  How  little  do  I  care  for  their  opinion,  so  long 
as  I  have  the  assent  of  my  own  conscience,  and  of 
those  persons  whose  judgment  I  value,  and  while  the 
purity  of  my  motives  is  ratified  by  the  testimony  of 
one  whose  moral  sense  far  surpasses  that  of  many 
who  are  renowned  for  their  great  powers  of  mind ! 
At  all  events,  I  shall  have  acted  as  few  men  in  my 
position  have  done.  I  shall  have  fought  boldly 
against  a  fate  which  would  seem  to  be  my  irrevoca- 
ble destiny,  and  to  which  I  have  seen  many  others 
succumb.  Shall  I  ever  be  able  to  rise  above  it? 
However  that  may  be,  the  duty  to  which  I  shall  have 
sacrificed  my  all  will  console  every  sorrow  that  may 
await  me.  What  a  wonderful  decree  of  Providence 
it  is,  whereby  the  sweetest  and  purest  joy  is  hidden 
beneath  the  hardest  sacrifices  man  is  called  to  make! 
Happy  he  who  has  the  courage  to  pay  the  price! 

Your  reflections  on  the  alternative  courses  now 
before  me  would  occur  to  any  reasonable  man  in  my 
position,  and  are  all  familiar  to  me.  The  tutorship  in 
Germany  supplies  present  need  perfectly,  but  does 
nothing  towards  the  future.  The  other  plan,  which 
would  involve  my  taking  a  more  decided  step  in  the 
direction  of  some  one  or  other  career,  offers  many 
present  difficulties,  but  is  more  likely  to  secure  my 
ultimate  ends.  This  is  my  exact  position  at  the  pres- 
ent moment.  From  it  we  must  draw  our  practical 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  193 

conclusions.  Besides  the  German  tutorship,  three 
principal  courses  are  open  to  me,  about  which  I 
must  have  more  positive  information  before  I  can 
decide  anything  whatever.  I  have  often  mentioned 
my  intercourse  with  M.  Quatremere;  it  has  grown 
closer  since  the  closing  weeks  of  the  year  when  I 
ended  by  being  his  only  auditor,  and  I  had  made  up 
my  mind  to  open  the  subject  of  my  intentions  with 
him  after  one  of  his  last  lectures,  when  an  unlucky 
incident  came  in  the  way.  He  published  a  sudden 
announcement  that  he  could  not  conclude  the  course, 
and  all  my  plans  were  thus  upset.  But  I  am  resolved 
to  make  an  effort  in  that  direction  early  next  year. 
It  will  not  be  a  very  rapid  road  to  travel  perhaps, 
but  it  is  a  sure  and  safe  one,  and  the  small  number 
of  competitors  I  should  find  on  it  would  spare  me 
that  incessant  and  selfish  rivalry,  the  scourge  of  every 
other  career,  and  so  distasteful  to  the  ethical  and  phil- 
osophic mind,  which,  content  with  being  what  it  is, 
has  no  desire  to  fight  or  struggle  with  the  vulgar 
herd. 

A  second  course,  to  which  I  am  more  inclined,  has 
been  suggested  by  one  of  my  professors,  who  has  cer- 
tainly given  me  the  impression  of  being  more  just  and 
impartial  in  his  views  than  any  of  his  fellows.  He  is 
clear  my  proper  sphere  is  at  the  Ecole  Normale.  Such 
advice,  given  at  St.  Sulpice,  and  under  present  circum- 


194  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

stances,  would  seem  to  prove  him  pretty  liberal-minded. 
The  chief  difficulty  about  taking  it  evidently  lies  in  the 
ecclesiastical  nature  of  my  past  education.  But  that 
does  not  seem  to  me  insuperable.  In  the  first  place, 
I  believe  the  University  authorities  would  make  no 
objections  on  this  score,  if  I  manifested  any  intention 
of  entering  their  ranks.  Numerous  precedents  con- 
vince me  of  this  fact,  and  thus  a  passage  in  my  last 
letter,  the  conciseness  of  which  may  have  rendered  it 
unintelligible,  seemed  to  indicate  that  my  joining  the 
University,  and  my  entrance  into  its  teaching  staff, 
might  probably  be  simultaneous.  If  that  turned  out 
to  be  impossible,  it  still  remains  with  me  to  enter  my- 
self, paying  the  ordinary  fees,  at  one  of  those  pre- 
paratory establishments  where  one  is  taken  as  having 
got  through  the  University  courses  of  Philosophy  and 
Rhetoric  in  a  period  of  six  months.  During  which 
time  I  would  prepare  for  my  admission  examination. 
This  idea  attracts  me  greatly.  For,  as  I  think  I  have 
often  said  before,  my  intellectual  habit,  now  of  long 
standing,  and  favoured  as  it  has  been  by  the  life  I 
have  led,  makes  study  and  meditation  quite  indispen- 
sable to  me.  Man  does  not  live  by  bread  alone,  and 
I  believe  I  could  do  better  without  bodily  than  with- 
out mental  food.  Public  teaching  would  leave  me 
free  to  satisfy  this  need,  not  perhaps  so  fully  and 
completely  as  in  the  case  of  an  independent  savant 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  195 

who  can  study  and  reflect  in  absolute  independence  — 
such  a  condition,  which  would  be  my  dream,  is  almost 
unattainable  in  France  now-a-days  by  anybody  who 
has  to  barter  his  brains  to  earn  his  bread.  But  at  all 
events,  it  would  give  me  the  chance  of  laying  out  my 
life  after  my  own  tastes,  not  to  mention  the  fact  that 
the  professorial  body  holds  individual  liberty  in  con- 
siderable respect. 

There  are,  as  you  know,  three  sections  in  the 
Ecole  Normale,  Literature,  Mathematical  and  Physi- 
cal Science,  and  Philosophy.  I  would  take  up  the 
third,  which  I  know  most  about,  and  which  has  more 
interest  for  me  than  the  others.  Those  who  know 
me  well  assure  me  I  should  rise  high.  The  diffi- 
culties of  the  sudden  change,  the  impossibility  of 
hiding  behind  any  pretext  of  its  being  temporary,  the 
anathemas  of  the  clergy,  who  are  certain  to  denounce 
me  as  a  heretical  schismatic,  would  not  give  me  pause, 
except  in  so  far  as  they  would  cause  sorrow  to  my 
mother.  That  is  a  consideration  before  which  I  feel 
everything  must  bow.  This  seems  to  me  a  duty,  and 
even  if  it  struck  me  as  a  weakness,  I  do  not  know 
that  I  should  be  strong  enough  to  overcome  it.  But 
I  hope  I  should  find  some  means  of  stilling  her  fears 
by  giving  her  other  hopes.  I  will  sound  her  on  that 
delicate  point  during  the  vacation. 

I  have  mentioned  yet  a  third  course,   my  dearest 


196  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

Henriette,  which  might  lead  to  some  opening  for  me. 
But  it  is  not  very  clear  before  me  as  yet;  it  lies  in 
the  region  of  possibilities.  I  have  said  nothing  so  far 
to  M.  Dupanloup  either  of  my  present  condition  or  my 
future  plans,  and  I  can  say  nothing  at  present,  for  he 
is  not  in  Paris.  Well,  I  believe  him  to  be  large-minded 
enough  to  take  some  interest  in  both.  I  know  several 
young  men,  former  fellow-students  of  my  own,  who 
have  been  in  the  same  position  as  that  I  am  in  now, 
and  whom  he  has  helped  immensely,  either  by  backing 
them  up  in  whatever  career  they  embraced,  or  by  open- 
ing some  door  or  other  before  them.  He  is  generous 
and  noble-hearted  by  nature,  and  he  has  a  great  deal 
of  influence  even  amongst  those  whom  his  party  posi- 
tion compels  him  to  oppose.  And,  you  know,  the 
help  of  the  opposite  party  is  often  well  worth  having. 
I  conclude,  then,  that  I  had  better  not  settle  any- 
thing until  I  have  spoken  to  him.  Yet  your  proposal, 
dearest  Henriette,  is  certainly  the  one  that  tempts 
me  most.  The  advantage  of  keeping  everything 
quiet  for  the  time,  at  least;  the  pleasure  of  visiting 
Germany,  and  of  completing  my  views  of  life  by  see- 
ing it  on  a  larger  stage;  the  opportunity  for  knowing 
men  and  things,  would  outweigh  every  other  consid- 
eration, even  if  I  did  not  instinctively  incline  to  follow 
the  impetus  given  me  by  your  hand,  which  has  always 
guided  me  so  faithfully. 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  197 

I  have  taken  no  official  step  as  yet  within  this 
Seminary.  Only  three  of  the  chiefs  are  supposed 
to  be  in  my  confidence,  and  they  are  under  the  im- 
pression that  I  am  coming  back  next  year — at  the 
beginning  of  the  academic  year,  at  all  events.  As 
for  mother  and  Alain,  I  have  not  breathed  a  word 
to  either  of  them. 

This,  then,  is  the  state  of  things  at  the  present 
moment,  dearest  Henriette.  Their  natural  and  prac- 
tical outcome  appears  to  me  as  follows:  I  cannot 
decide  anything  before  the  beginning  of  the  next 
academic  year,  because  I  cannot  have  a  quantity  of 
information  indispensable  to  my  decision  before  that 
date.  My  idea  would  be  to  return  here  towards  the 
end  of  the  vacation,  and  then  take  some  decisive 
action.  I  would  consult  M.  Quatremere  and  M. 

/ 

Dupanloup;  I  would  make  inquiries  about  the  Ecole 
Normale;  I  would  settle  everything  with  the  heads 
of  this  Seminary,  for  my  position  obliges  me  to  treat 
them  with  great  consideration,  and  thus  I  hope  to 
have  come  to  some  decision  by  the  early  days  of 
November.  As  you  may  imagine,  I  shall  not  be 
sorry  to  leave  all  these  plans  rather  undefined  while 
I  am  with  my  mother.  I  could  not  conceal  a  posi- 
tive resolution  from  her  if  I  had  made  one.  And  I 
can  settle  it  all  with  her  better  from  a  distance  than 
when  we  are  together. 


198  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

But  a  great  question,  and  one  I  feel  very  un- 
certain about,  is  whether  I  should  re-enter  this  Semi- 
nary or  not?  Seeing  I  have  decided  not  to  remain 
in  it,  the  idea  of  coming  back  to  it  seems  question- 
able. I  should  even  feel  it  to  be  a  matter  of  con- 
science, if  the  heads  of  the  establishment  had  not 
strongly  pressed  me  to  return,  in  spite  of  my 
straightforward  and  clear  explanation  of  my  ultimate 
intentions.  I  know  there  would  be  certain  advan- 
tages in  coming  back — I  should  have  more  facilities 
for  making  arrangements  with  M.  Dupanloup  and 
the  authorities  here,  and  then  it  would  calm  our 
good  mother's  feelings. 

But  truly,  why  I  know  not,  I  shrink  from  doing 
it.  To  come  back  for  a  few  weeks  like  that  seems 
to  me  rather  insincere,  and  even  underhand.  My 
vacation  experience  will  help  to  decide  the  point. 
There  is  a  good  hotel  close  to  St.  Sulpice,  about 
which  I  have  already  inquired.  I  could  spend  three 
weeks  or  a  month  there  very  cheaply,  and  I  am 
sure  that  time  would  quite  suffice  to  enable  me  to 
make  a  thoroughly  well-considered  decision.  It  is 
the  expense  that  frightens  me,  dearest  Henriette, 
and  if  you  are  not  able  to  give  me  an  answer  about 
the  tutorship  in  the  course  of  a  few  months,  I  could 
apply  to  the  authorities  here,  who  would  receive  me 
with  open  arms.  For  when  I  touched  on  the  point 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  199 

before,  they  did  everything  in  their  power  to  over- 
come my  scruples  about  it.  Your  letter  will  have 
great  influence  as  to  what  I  decide. 

In  two  days  more,  my  dear  Henriette,  I  start  to 
join  our  dear  mother.  This  brings  another  difficulty 
which  I  had  to  think  over  long  before  the  right  line 
grew  clear.  This  is  the  one  which  recommends 
itself  to  me.  Almost  as  soon  as  I  arrive,  I  will 
mention  our  German  plan  to  my  mother.  I  am  cer- 
tain she  will  be  pleased  with  it.  I  spoke  of  it 
vaguely  once  before,  and  she  seemed  much  inclined 
to  it.  When  I  told  her  later  that  I  was  learning 
German,  she  herself  remarked  that  it  would  be  use- 
ful for  me  when  I  carried  out  my  plan,  and  above 
all,  she  added,  it  would  bring  me  nearer  you.  The 
poor  dear  soul  fancies  that  once  I  am  in  Germany 
we  must  be  close  to  each  other.  Would  to  God  the 
idea  were  something  more  than  the  dream  of  her 
loving  heart.  Further,  I  will  let  her  perceive  that 
many  doubts  are  stirring  within  me,  "that  I  might, 
perhaps,"  &c.,  &c.  In  a  word,  I  will  set  the  matter 
before  her  as  I  did  some  six  months  since;  that  is, 
as  an  excellent  situation  for  me  to  occupy  while  I 
looked  about  me  before  settling  down  for  good.  But 
I  shall  tell  her  nothing  whatever  of  our  other  plans, 
and  indeed  I  think  it  very  probable  the  German  one 
will  gain  the  day.  In  any  case,  even  if  it  does 


200  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

break  down,  it  will  have  served  her  as  a  stepping- 
stone  to  more  decisive  and  disquieting  resolutions, 
which  it  might  be  imprudent  to  put  forward  at  first. 

The  letter  which  I  expect  to  receive  from  you  dur- 
ing the  vacation  will  do  much  to  make  her  take  the 
view  I  hope  for.  I  entreat  you  to  conform  to  the 
idea  I  have  suggested,  and  which  I  believe  the  only 
practicable  one.  Write  as  you  would  have  written 
six  months  since.  Describe  the  post  as  offering  a 
useful  means  of  spending  the  years  during  which  I 
cannot  come  to  any  irrevocable  determination.  Do 
not  appear  to  imagine  the  possibility,  or  at  all  events 
the  existence,  of  any  other  hypothesis.  Be  sure  I 
shall  understand  all  you  say.  If  you  think  I  should 
not  re-enter  the  Seminary,  you  will  suggest  that 
course,  only  advising  me  to  go  back  to  Paris 
towards  the  close  of  the  vacation,  so  as  to  settle  it 
with  the  authorities.  As  to  the  tutorship,  you  will 
describe  it  as  it  is,  but  as  being  very  nearly  a  dead 
certainty,  provided  I  have  patience  enough  to  wait 
for  it. 

As  regards  the  Ecole  Normale,  if  you  approve 
that  plan,  you  will  advise  me  to  take  my  degrees.  I 
shall  know  that  means  to  take  steps  about  that  busi- 
ness. Thus  arranged,  the  matter  could  not  possibly 
alarm  my  mother.  O  Heavens !  what  it  costs  me 
thus  to  deceive  one  from  whom  I  have  never  hidden 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  201 

anything  before !  How  heavy  my  subterfuge  lies 
upon  my  heart!  But  surely  it  is  my  duty  to  neglect 
nothing  which  may  soften  the  heavy  blow  stern  duty 
forces  me  to  give  this  best  of  mothers.  Should  I 
not  keep  silence  as  far  as  that  is  possible  ?  Oh,  how 
willingly  I  would  bear  the  sorest  suffering,  if  by  so 
doing  I  could  save  her  a  moment's  sorrow ! 

Here,  dearest  Henriette,  you  have  the  rule  of  con- 
duct I  have  laid  down  after  much  serious  thought. 
Go  on  as  you  have  begun,  on  your  part.  If  you  find 
a  really  advantageous  position  for  me,  which  will  give 
me  some  leisure  and  opportunity  for  carrying  my 
studies  and  the  course  of  my  intellectual  improve- 
ment, accept  it  without  any  hesitation,  sure  that 
whatever  you  do  will  have  my  full  approval.  If 
your  efforts  do  not  result  in  anything  answering  to 
your  wishes  for  me,  act  as  if  you  were  not  quite  sure 
of  my  consent.  But  your  quick  instinct  will  guide 
you  far  better  than  any  words  of  mine.  It  is  enough 
for  me  to  make  you  aware  of  how  I  actually  stand. 

All  these  matters  vex  my  soul,  dear  Henriette,  and 
cast  it  into  cruel  perplexities.  I  am  calmer,  perhaps, 
than  when  I  was  so  full  of  doubt;  but  the  future, 
which  never  seemed  so  close  on  me  before,  fills  me 
with  anxious  fear.  Who  am  I,  weak  and  inexperi- 
enced as  I  am,  isolated  and  unaided,  with  no  one  to 
support  me  save  you,  my  Henriette,  you  who  are 


202  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

500  leagues  away  from  me,  that  I  should  tear  such 
mighty  bonds  asunder  and  break  from  the  path  in 
which  superior  force  has  driven  me  until  now  ?  I 
tremble  at  the  thought.  But  I  will  not  go  back. 
And  then,  think  you  I  can  part  without  regret  from 
the  beliefs  and  from  the  projects  which  have  been 
my  life  and  happiness  for  so  many  years  ?  And  all 
this  religious  world  to  which  I  have  grown  acclima- 
tised, will  it  not  disown  me?  And  will  the  outer 
world  again  have  aught  to  do  with  me  ?  In  that 
other  one  I  have  been  loved  and  tenderly  treated. 
I  still  have  a  kindly  feeling  for  it. 

Henriette,  dear  Henriette,  help  me  to  be  brave ! 
Oh,  how  the  thought  of  you  supports  me  when  life 
looks  sad  and  hard,  as  it  does  now !  For,  after  all, 
I  should  be  utterly  alone  in  the  world  if  I  had  not 
you.  If  I  were  only  certain  of  realising  my  ideal 
and  being  what  I  long  to  be!  But  sure  as  I  may 
be  of  myself,  who  can  be  sure  of  circumstances  ? 
How  often  have  I  cursed  the  day  I  first  began  to 
think !  How  I  have  envied  the  children  and  the 
simple-minded  folk  I  see  about  me,  all  so  peaceful 
and  happy!  May  God  preserve  them  from  my  fate! 
And  yet  I  thank  Him  for  it! 

Farewell,  my  dear  good  sister.  Teach  me  to  hope 
for  happy  days!  —  Your  brother  and  your  friend, 

E.  RENAN. 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  203 

(Below.) 

I  think  of  returning  to  Paris  towards  the  loth  of 
October,  or  even  earlier.  I  hope  for  another  and 
more  explicit  letter  from  you  then,  entering  into  all 
the  questions  I  have  touched  on  in  this.  And,  if 
you  will,  you  might  send  it  to  Alain,  and  desire  him 
not  to  give  it  me  till  I  pass  through  St.  Malo  on 
my  way  back.  This  would  obviate  any  uncertainty 
about  the  direction. 

(On  the  margin?) 

Your  last  letter,  dearest  Henriette,  seemed  to  ex- 
press a  fear  that  the  privacy  of  our  letters  had  been 
violated.  I  can  assure  you  that  would  be  physically 
impossible  without  my  becoming  aware  of  it,  as  far 
at  least  as  the  interior  of  this  Seminary  is  concerned, 
and  I  have  not  said  one  word  to  my  mother.  I  fancy 
I  know  what  has  made  you  imagine  this  —  an  unlucky 
letter  I  wrote  to  Tre*cy,  one  of  my  college  friends,  to 
whom  I  could  say  anything,  for  he  was  in  very  much 
the  same  case  as  myself.  A  sudden  illness  carried 
him  off  before  my  letter  reached  him,  and  it  remained 
in  my  mother's  possession.  Even  in  that  I  did  not 
refer  to  any  future  plans. 


204  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 


XIX 

August  5,  1845. 

This  very  day,  dearest  friend,  the  letter  for  which 
I  have  been  sighing  so  wistfully  has  reached  my 
hands.  I  was  at  that  moment  writing  to  dear  Emma, 
and  take  advantage  of  the  fact  to  beg  her  to  give 
you  these  few  lines  privately.  My  full  answer  shall 
be  sent  as  soon  as  I  can  possibly  write  it.  These 
lines  are  for  you  alone ;  do  not  mention  them.  Your 
letter,  my  Ernest,  agitated  me  much,  but  it  gave  me 
great  delight,  for  I  see  your  resolution  is  beginning 
to  take  shape.  I  note  some  signs  of  the  energy  and 
power  of  will  I  have  so  earnestly  desired  for  you, 
and  failing  which,  we  can  be  nothing  but  great  chil- 
dren to  our  life's  end.  Courage !  oh  courage !  my 
best  of  brothers !  Yes,  the  law  of  duty  is  immutable, 
and  once  that  speaks,  any  neglect  of  its  suggestions 
becomes  a  crime.  Though  I  am  taking  precautions  to 
ensure  these  lines  falling  under  no  eyes  but  yours, 
I  dare  not  speak  quite  freely.  I  will  only  say  your 
idea  of  taking  your  degrees  has  more  than  my  appro- 
bation ;  it  has  all  my  sympathies.  It  is  the  plan  that 
attracts  me  most;  it  would  make  my  mind  easier 
about  you  than  any  other,  and  there  is  nothing  I  am 
not  ready  to  do  to  second  it.  You  are  right  A 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  205 

man  who  would  give  you  such  advice,  holding  the 
position  this  one  holds,  must  be  an  honourable  man. 
If  there  is  no  insurmountable  difficulty  in  the  way, 
listen  to  him  and  follow  his  wise  counsel.  Your  idea 
of  going  back  to  Paris  before  the  close  of  the  vacation 
is  perfectly  sensible  and  good.  But  I  insist,  my  dear 
boy,  on  your  taking  private  lodgings,  not  only  for 
the  time  you  mention,  but  for  much  longer  should  it 
prove  necessary.  Let  us  have  no  shilly-shallying  or 
false  reckoning  about  this.  I  will  go  into  the  matter 
fully  in  my  next  letter,  but  pray  understand  I  con- 
sider the  point  essential.  You  will  find  more  detailed 
information  awaiting  you  at  St.  Malo,  and  you  will 
see  I  have  provided  for  pressing  needs.  If  the  hotel 
you  mention  should  not  suit  you,  I  can  easily  have 
board  and  lodging  found  you  in  some  respectable 
house.  It  might  be  the  better  plan.  I  will  have 
preliminary  inquiry  made  in  any  case.  That  will 
bind  you  to  nothing.  But  pray  do  not  close  with 
that  other  proposal.  If  you  should  want  to  write  to 
M.  Quatremere,  I  can  find  means  of  sending  him 
your  letter.  I  am  personally  acquainted  with  M. 
Stanislas  Julien,  who,  as  you  know,  holds  the  Chinese 
professorship  at  the  College  de  France.  I  have 
heard  him  speak  of  M.  Quatremere  as  of  a  person 
with  whom  he  had  frequent  intercourse.  If  it  served 
you  in  any  way,  I  should  not  the  least  mind  asking 


206  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

him  to  be  good  enough  to  deliver  your  letter.  .  .  . 
But  when  I  think  of  it,  you  will  be  back  in  Paris 
before  I  could  get  your  answer  and  address  my 
request  to  him  from  this  distant  place.  Your  own 
personal  action  will  answer  much  better,  and  be 
more  prompt  in  its  effect.  Don't  neglect  moving  in 
this  matter,  and  as  soon  as  you  reach  Paris,  if  pos- 
sible. The  sooner  the  whole  thing  is  cleared  up 
the  better,  for  until  then  we  shall  not  know  what 
our  line  should  be,  and  certainty  as  to  that  is  most 
important.  I  only  trust  the  people  you  will  have  to 
do  with  may  be  in  Paris  early  in  October.  I  have 
no  news  from  Germany,  but  I  am  sure  something 
is  being  done.  I  will  let  matters  there  take  their 
course,  and  we  can  always  decide  on  what  seems  best 
according  to  the  settlement  you  make. 

Do  not  worry  about  our  mother.  Wait  till  you 
see  the  excellent  arguments  my  next  letter  will  con- 
tain. If  you  should  have  to  go  further  later  on,  I 
will  undertake  to  do  still  more  in  the  same  direction. 
In  the  letter  I  shall  send  you,  the  words  "taking 
your  degrees"  will  appear  to  be  employed  in  their 
ordinary  sense,  but  you  will  easily  decipher  the  real 
meaning  under  my  vague  expressions. 

My  St.  Malo  letter  shall  be  there  before  the  end 
of  September.  Ernest,  my  whole  soul  longs  to  be 
with  you.  Oh,  why  are  we  apart  at  such  a  moment  ? 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  207 

Courage,  dear  friend,  once  more  I  say  it.  Bitter 
struggle  is  the  indispensable  condition  for  attaining 
true  manhood. 

Brother!  Friend!  Beloved  child!  lean  ever  on  my 
heart  and  on  my  arm,  sure  that  neither  will  ever 
fail  you.  .  .  .  Listen  patiently  to  all  that  is  said  to 
you,  but  let  nothing  shake  your  resolution.  Above 
all,  let  nothing  induce  you  to  swerve  from  the  path 
your  duly  bids  you  follow.  Let  me  again  repeat, 
that  once  certain  veils  are  raised,  they  never  can  be 
dropped  again.  Farewell  now,  for  a  day  or  two,  my 
dearest  one.  I  am  yours  unchangingly.  Emma  will 
not  know  why  I  send  you  this  letter  privately;  she 
believes  it  concerns  my  own  affairs. 

This  letter  is  addressed :  "  For  my  Ernest.  For 
him  ONLY." 

I  once  more  confide  these  lines  to  my  dear  Emma, 
earnestly  begging  her  to  remember  the  request  my 
letter  to  her  contains. 


XX 

August  15,  1845. 

Your  last  letter  so  fills  my  thoughts,  beloved  friend, 
that  I  cannot  but  reply  to  it  at  once.  The  position 
in  which  you,  or  rather  in  which  we  are  placed — for 
anything  concerning  you  cannot  fail  to  touch  us  all 


208  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

—  requires  our  calmest  reflection,  and  every  effort  of 
our  reason  and  conscience  must  be  turned  to  remedy- 
ing it.  Let  us  not  forget  that  these  two  voices  repre- 
sent the  voice  of  God  within  us.  In  the  first  place, 
I  entreat  our  good  mother  to  join  you  in  weighing 
the  considerations  I  am  about  to  lay  before  you  in 
all  seriousness,  and  to  forgive  me  if  I  dare  to  speak 
of  advice  and  experience  in  her  presence.  I  venture 
to  do  so,  first  of  all,  because  your  peace  and  happi- 
ness are  my  first  earthly  thought,  and  also  because 
the  vicissitudes  of  life  have  doubled  in  my  case  that 
knowledge  of  events  and  things  and  of  the  human 
heart  which  generally  comes  with  years.  Oh,  may 
the  fruit  of  my  experience  and  my  suffering  serve 
those  for  whom  I  would  so  gladly  sacrifice  my 
all!  ... 

From  the  very  outset,  dear  Ernest,  I  have  inces- 
santly warned  you  of  the  danger  awaiting  you  on 
the  termination  of  your  studies.  I  mean  the  danger 
of  binding  yourself  blindly  and  precipitately.  Your 
upright  soul  must  understand  this,  I  felt,  and  your 
last  letters  have  proved  my  hope  was  not  unfounded. 
For  that  I  thank  Heaven  deeply.  I  have  always 
thought,  and  several  years  of  reflection  have  only 
served  to  strengthen  my  conviction,  that  a  pause 
should  be  made  between  the  end  of  a  man's  edu- 
cation and  the  beginning  of  his  actual  life,  to  give 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  209 

him  time  to  take  a  calm  and  unbiassed  view  of  what 
is  to  be  his  permanent  undertaking. 

Though  the  course  of  events,  in  some  cases,  ren- 
ders this  wise  maxim  difficult  in  practice,  to  neglect 
or  overrule  it  appears  to  me  a  downright  crime, 
when  the  career  in  question  is  as  exceptional  as 
that  towards  which  you  have  been  urged  from  your 
youth  up.  Oh,  what  a  terrible  responsibility  must 
lie  on  the  conscience  of  any  family  which  would 
press  a  sacred  and  indissoluble  engagement  on  a 
youth  not  yet  capable  of  realising  its  nature !  This 
then  was  my  idea  when  I  spoke  to  you,  two  years 
ago,  of  a  tutorship  in  Germany :  to  give  you  time  to 
collect  yourself,  and  to  spend  that  period  in  a  man- 
ner that  might  serve  your  intellectual  development. 
The  idea  of  suggesting  the  occupation  as  your  ulti- 
mate career  never  occurred  to  me.  I  always  looked 
on  it  as  a  temporary  measure.  You  realised  that, 
dear  Ernest.  You  felt  your  welfare  to  be  ever  my 
first  object  and  my  most  pressing  need.  Oh,  how 
I  thank  you !  The  Viennese  friends,  who  only 
needed  a  word  from  me  to  secure  their  fullest  help, 
are  as  convinced  as  I  am  that  their  efforts  will  end 
by  finding  what  I  have  suggested  to  you.  It  is  a 
mere  matter  of  waiting,  for  a  few  months,  it  may 
be.  The  German  nobility  spend  all  the  summer  at 
their  country  places,  and  do  not  return  to  town  till 


2io  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

towards  the  close  of  the  year.  So  no  inquiries  can 
bring  much  result  till  that  season  and  during  the 
months  following  on  it.  But  this  delay,  dearest 
friend,  far  from  being  a  drawback,  will  enable  you 
to  take  certain  steps  and  acquire  certain  knowledge 
which  appear  to  me  essential  at  this  moment,  what- 
ever your  ulterior  views  may  be. 

I  have  always  greatly  desired,  and  I  think  I  have 
often  told  you  so,  to  see  you  in  a  position  to  take 
your  University  degrees.  This  is  generally  regarded 
as  the  first  step  in  any  career.  Whether  a  man  be  a 
layman  or  an  ecclesiastic,  an  established  reputation 
for  knowledge  always  increases  his  value  in  the  eyes 
of  those  whose  judgment  is  worth  anything.  The 
Bachelor's  degree  is  the  first  step  in  this  direction, 
and  to  it  I  hope  you  will  turn  your  endeavours  as 
soon  as  you  return  to  Paris. 

I  know  the  nature  of  the  teaching  you  have  had 
is  an  obstacle  in  the  way  of  your  at  once  attending 
the  Sorbonne  courses;  but  I  also  know,  as  so  do 
you,  that  there  are  possible  means  of  arranging  this 
difficulty,  and  as  a  last  resort,  you  can  always  enter 
your  name  at  some  preparatory  establishment.  I  do 
not  dwell  on  all  this,  knowing  you  to  be  fully  in- 
formed. I  only  desire  to  urge  the  necessity  of  your 
having  your  Bachelor's  degree,  and  I  beseech  you, 
dear  Ernest,  to  give  this  your  full  and  prompt  atten- 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  211 

tion.  No  matter  if  it  takes  you  six  months,  or  even 
a  year,  I  say  again  the  matter  is  all-important.  The 
German  scheme  will  always  remain  open  to  us.  I 
possess  the  most  devoted  and  valuable  friends  and 
acquaintances  there,  and  you  will  realise  what  weight 
your  having  passed  an  examination  and  obtained  a 
diploma  would  give  any  recommendation  of  theirs. 

It  is  indispensable,  dear  Ernest,  in  face  of  these 
important  steps,  and  on  account  of  the  preparatory 
work  and  study  for  these  examinations,  that  you 
should  be  quite  free;  and  in  my  opinion  you  should 
not  take  up  your  board  and  lodging  in  the  Seminary 
on  your  return.  Such  a  course  would  fetter  you,  or, 
at  the  very  least,  it  would  cause  you  inconvenience 
and  injury  at  a  moment  when  you  need  all  your 
freedom  of  action.  To  my  mind,  the  wisest,  and 
indeed  the  only  feasible  plan  to  ensure  success  in 
your  examination,  would  be  to  take  a  student's  lodg- 
ing and  keep  quite  free  of  any  other  occupation. 

Another  reason,  besides  that  connected  with  your 
degree,  makes  me  desire  you  should  follow  my  ad- 
vice on  this  head.  You  have  frequently  told  me 
your  historical  studies  are  far  from  complete.  It  is 
of  the  first  importance  that  you  should  apply  your- 
self to  them  this  year,  and  follow  the  great  public 
lectures  given  in  Paris  on  such  subjects  as  closely  as 
possible.  This  is  a  matter  of  the  utmost  moment. 


212  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

History  is  a  thing  every  one  must  learn,  and  now-a- 
days,  when  historical  research  occupies  such  an  im- 
portant position,  full  knowledge  on  that  subject  is 
imperatively  demanded. 

To  this  end,  my  dear  Ernest,  as  well  as  for  the 
preparation  for  your  degree,  it  is  indispensable  that 
you  should  have  full  command  of  your  own  time, 
and  be  able  to  go  and  seek  any  details  you  may 
need  in  our  rich  public  libraries  and  other  great 
centres  of  information.  Therefore  I  should  like  you 
to  move  to  Paris  before  the  end  of  the  vacation,  to 
come  to  some  understanding  with  the  heads  of  the 
Seminary,  settle  the  matter  with  them,  and  then  turn 
your  attention  to  the  plan  I  would  press  on  you 
with  all  the  strength  of  my  affection  and  all  the 
weight  of  an  experience  ripened  by  events.  You 
know  as  well  as  I  do  that  nothing  is  easier  than  for 
a  young  man  to  settle  in  Paris  in  the  manner  I  de- 
scribe; but  to  save  you  all  trouble,  I  have  sent  for 
information  as  to  various  details,  which  I  will  pass 
on  to  you  as  soon  as  it  reaches  me,  and  which,  I 
hope,  will  quite  satisfy  you.  As  I  may  not  receive 
it  in  time  for  it  to  reach  you  at  Tre*guier,  I  will  send 
it  to  Alain,  who  will  give  it  you  as  you  pass  through. 
Let  no  mistaken  idea  of  economy  check  you,  my 
dear  Ernest.  That  would  be  to  misunderstand  our 
interests  sadly,  even  taking  the  word  in  its  purely 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  213 

material  sense.  Try  and  fit  yourself  for  the  highest 
functions,  whatever  line  you  may  choose  to  enter 
upon  ultimately,  and  rest  assured  that  to  be  chary  of 
the  seed  you  sow  would  not  only  be  a  very  fatal  specu- 
lation, but  a  serious  moral  blunder.  "  To  whom  much 
is  given,  from  him  shall  much  be  required,"  says  the 
Gospel,  and  the  man  who  hid  his  talent  was  punished 
as  though  he  had  been  a  spendthrift.  How  wonder- 
ful are  the  teachings  of  that  book,  Ernest!  and  how 
many  of  us  fall  away  from  them !  Friend,  let  us  try 
at  all  events  —  nay,  let  us  strive  our  utmost  to  develop 
the  gifts  God  has  bestowed  on  you. 

You  may  be  sure  I  shall  approve  your  final  reso- 
lution, whatever  it  may  be.  I  will  say  more :  it  will 
give  me  happiness,  once  it  is  the  evident  outcome 
of  an  enlightened  mind  capable  of  true  discernment. 
But  to  see  you,  at  your  age,  so  ignorant  of  the 
world,  of  life,  of  all  books  cannot  teach,  cast  into 
the  clutches  of  the  irrevocable  —  that,  my  Ernest, 
would  be  an  anguish  that  would  darken  my  whole 
existence !  and  ever,  in  the  depths  of  my  soul,  I 
should  hear  a  voice  crying,  "  Where  is  Abel,  thy 
brother?" 

Spare  me  that  regret,  my  beloved !  Spare  our  dear 
mother,  too,  by  guiding  these  first  steps  of  yours 
wisely  and  prudently.  It  is  impossible,  utterly  im- 
possible, short  of  abdicating  your  own  reason,  for 


214  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

you  to  bind  yourself,  at  two-and-twenty,  absolutely 
inexperienced  as  you  are,  to  a  career  from  which  there 
is  no  retiring,  and  long  experience  in  which  scarcely 
suffices  to  impart  the  elevation  of  spirit  and  soul  and 
thought  it  so  urgently  calls  for.  This  fact  once  ad- 
mitted, I  am  convinced  the  means  I  point  out  are 
the  best  for  turning  your  period  of  waiting  and 
reflection  to  good  account.  So  do  not  neglect  my 
advice,  I  entreat  you.  It  is  inspired  by  such  true  re- 
gard, so  utterly  devoid  of  any  personal  consideration, 
that  I  cannot  think  it  will  be  misunderstood,  either 
by  yourself,  dear  Ernest,  or  by  our  dear  good  mother. 
Oh !  would  I  could  be  with  you,  though  it  were  only  for 
a  day,  or  even  for  one  hour.  I  feel  my  own  strong 
belief  would  carry  conviction  to  your  minds  as  well. 

As  to  financial  arrangements,  everything,  dear  friend, 
shall  be  prepared.  Alain  will  have  my  first  instruc- 
tions, the  rest  will  be  sent  you  direct  to  Paris.  I 
have  all  the  necessary  information  on  the  subject, 
and  the  whole  thing  is  much  less  alarming  than  you 
would  imagine.  People  with  orderly  and  regular 
habits  can  live  economically  anywhere,  and  in  Paris 
thousands  of  young  men  of  your  age  lead  the  life  I 
suggest  should  be  yours  for  some  time  forward  with- 
out any  great  expenditure.  You  know  all  the  courses, 
both  in  the  Faculty  of  Literature  and  in  that  of 
Science,  are  free  to  all  comers.  All  the  great  store- 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  215 

houses  of  human  knowledge,  all  the  libraries  in  Paris, 
are  open  to  the  public  every  day  in  the  week.  You 
can  go  there  and  read  and  compare  and  take  notes 
in  the  most  perfect  peace  and  quiet.  And  here  let 
me  remind  you,  by  the  way,  that  the  Ste.  Gene- 
vieve  Library  is  warmed  and  lighted  until  ten  o'clock 
at  night.  Seize  all  these  precious  opportunities  now 
you  have  the  chance.  .The  measure  I  propose  to 
you  is  purely  temporary,  I  repeat.  You  alone  can 
decide  on  your  ultimate  course.  But  let  us  at  least 
employ  this  transition  period,  often  and  necessarily 
—  when  one  does  not  desire  to  compromise  one's 
whole  future  —  a  prolonged  one,  in  a  useful  fashion. 
I  could  go  on  for  ever,  dear  brother,  for  my  whole 
heart  is  full  of  what  I  say;  may  you  take  the  same 
view  as  I  do!  I  have  covered  pages  in  telling  you 
what  is  easily  summed  up  in  these  words :  Take  your 
degrees.  And  to  that  end  study  privately,  for  some 
months  at  all  events.  It  will  not  be  possible  to 
attain  it  without  such  study,  and  on  any  hypothesis 
it  seems  to  me  an  indispensable  preliminary  step. 
Dear  Ernest,  I  trust  you  will  not  misunderstand  me, 
nor  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  my  arguments.  I  need  this 
belief  to  soothe  the  sharp  and  constant  anxiety  your 
position  gives  me.  God  guide  you!  and  our  beloved 
mother,  too!  I  hope  everything  from  your  upright- 
ness of  heart  and  will. 


216  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

I  never  mention  our  money  matters,  dear  friend, 
for  I  do  not  care  to  weary  you  with  endless  figures. 
But  I  will  say  a  few  words  about  them  to-day,  in 
the  hope  that  my  explanation  of  our  pecuniary  posi- 
tion may  induce  you  to  follow  my  advice  —  that 
being  my  first  and  dominant  desire.  I  assure  you, 
my  dear  Ernest,  that,  without  any  imprudence  or 
inconvenience,  I  can  place  a  sufficient  sum  at  your 
disposal  to  carry  out  this  useful  and  cherished  plan 
of  mine.  Our  family  business  must  be  well  advanced. 
I  have  sent  our  brother  a  remittance  which  should 
cover  the  greater  part  of  the  expenses,  and  he  prom- 
ised to  give  the  matter  his  special  attention  during  his 
visit  to  our  dear  mother.  On  the  other  hand,  I  have 
made  an  arrangement  with  my  pupils'  parents  which 
will  ensure  my  not  being  quite  without  means  when 
I  leave  their  children.  So  do  not  fear  to  accept  my 
offer,  I  entreat  you.  I  beg  this  favour  of  you  with 
tearful  eyes,  and  with  all  the  eagerness  my  tenderest 
affection  prompts.  Some  day,  my  dear,  if  God  should 
see  fit  to  spare  the  life  of  which  you  are  and  ever 
have  been  the  first  object  longer  than  He  spares  my 
bodily  strength,  you  shall  repay  it  all,  with  usury.  I 
hope,  yes,  I  do  hope,  dear  Ernest,  I  have  made  you 
understand  the  advice  I  give  you  is  thoroughly  wise, 
prudent,  and  practical.  May  your  own  good  sense 
dictate  the  rest,  and  may  your  love  of  truth  lead  you 


HENRfETTE  TO  ERNEST  217 

to   put  it  into   action.     I  leave  you  to  write   to   our 
good  mother,  or  rather,  I  carry  this   long   paper  talk 

—  the  first  pages  of   which  I  have   addressed  to   you 

—  still  further  with   her,  for   the   two   letters   are   as 
much  your  common  property  as  is  my  deep  affection. 

Farewell,  dear  friend!  You  will  readily  imagine 
how  anxiously  I  await  news  from  you. — Yours  ever, 
and  with  all  my  heart,  H.  R. 

XXI 

September  12,  1845. 

At  last,  my  dearest  Ernest,  I  can  write  to  you 
freely,  and  tell  you  fully  all  the  thoughts  your  last 
letter  has  stirred  within  me !  There  was  not  one 
word  of  untruth  assuredly  in  what  I  wrote  you  last; 
but  it  tried  me  sorely  to  have  to  stop  short  so  often, 
to  lay  stress  on  what  was  not  my  dominant  idea,  to 
talk  of  irresolution  when  what  you  had  written  me 
proved  there  could  be  no  such  thing  for  you  in  fut- 
ure. So  now  I  hasten,  dearest  brother,  to  consider 
the  position  as  it  really  is,  and  to  draw  the  natural 
conclusions  from  it  —  all  such  as  to  strengthen  the 
opinion  expressed  in  your  last  letter. 

Two  chief  points  are  now  settled,  I  trust.  The 
first  —  that  our  mother  is  at  least  aware  you  have 
many  doubts ;  and  this  I  feel  sure  of,  for  she  men- 


2i8  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

tioned  it  to  Alain,  while  he  was  staying  with  her, 
and  did  not  seem  distressed  at  the  idea.  The  second 
—  which  I  hope  is  clear,  that  it  is  quite  decided  you 
will  settle  down  independently  as  soon  as  you  get  to 
Paris.  Starting  on  this  twofold  basis,  we  will  now 
turn  to  your  future  arrangements.  As  I  wrote  you 
word,  I  have  begged  one  of  my  friends  to  look  out 
for  a  quiet,  respectable  house  in  which  you  might 
have  a  room,  and  perhaps  your  board  as  well,  for  as 
long  as  may  be  necessary.  I  did  this  the  very  day 
I  received  your  last  letter;  but  I  am  so  terribly  out 
of  the  way  here,  that  I  have  not  been  able  to  get  an 
answer  yet.  So  take  a  room  at  the  hotel,  my  dear 
boy,  as  you  propose,  for  a  time.  As  soon  as  I  re- 
ceive the  answer  I  am  expecting  I  will  send  it  on  to 
Alain,  who  will  know  your  address  before  I  do,  and 
you  will  decide  as  you  think  best,  according  to  the 
information  it  supplies. 

Your  first  act,  when  you  get  back  to  Paris,  should 
be  to  bring  your  relations  with  the  Seminary  to  an 
end  in  the  most  dignified  and  amicable  manner,  but 
utterly  and  completely.  You  should  then  see  M. 
Dupanloup,  M.  Quatremere,  &c.,  and  collect  all  the 
information  you  can  get  about  the  Ecole  Normale. 
If  M.  Quatremere  thinks  you  could  make  a  future 
by  addressing  yourself  entirely  to  the  study  of  Orien- 
tal languages,  I  should  be  inclined  to  agree  with  you 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  219 

that  such  a  career  has  the  great  advantage  of  saving 
you  from  the  crowded  competition  you  will  meet 
everywhere  else,  and  which  is  all  the  more  trying 
in  proportion  to  one's  own  consciousness  of  real 
merit.  Your  views  on  that  point  are  very  correct, 
dear  Ernest;  do  not  lose  sight  of  them,  if  you 
should  see  any  opening  in  that  direction — and  re- 
member that,  in  this  matter,  as  in  every  other,  you 
will  always  find  me  ready  to  do  what  in  me  lies  to 
smooth  the  difficulties  of  the  first  few  steps.  Find 
out,  at  the  same  time,  whether  you  can  get  into  the 
Ecole  Normale.  Here,  too,  you  must  consider  the 
future,  think  the  whole  thing  over,  weigh  it  well, 
and  then  decide,  my  dearest  friend,  since  I  cannot 
be  there  to  help  you  do  so. 

Oh !  how  this  horrible  separation  weighs  on  me 
now !  I  spend  my  nights  thinking  about  you.  How 
slowly  the  days  seem  to  drag  on  towards  that  happy 
one,  when  at  last  I  shall  be  able  to  feel  we  have 
left  the  trying  time  in  which  I  know  you  still  to  be 
behind  us.  I  can  never  express,  my  Ernest,  the 
relief  it  was  to  me  to  learn  by  your  last  letter  that 
our  uncertainties  are  coming  to  an  end,  that,  after 
all  your  tossings  to  and  fro  between  your  own  reason 
and  the  will  of  others,  you  have  at  last  come  to  an 
absolute  and  independent  resolution.  As  to  the 
German  tutorship,  let  me  entreat  you  not  to  think 


220  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

of  it  unless  every  other  expedient  fails  you.  I 
repeat,  I  only  suggested  it  as  a  means  of  gaining 
time  for  further  reflection,  for  I  have  always  felt 
that  what  has  happened  must  come  sooner  or  later. 
But  now  you  have  reflected,  and  reflection  has  borne 
fruit,  you  would  not  be  gaining  time;  you  would 
only  be  losing  it,  and  with  it,  perhaps,  your  chance 
of  entering  some  other  career.  And  besides,  my 
dearest,  as  my  great  object  is  to  spare  you  discom- 
fort, I  do  not  hesitate  to  tell  you  that  nothing  is 
more  trying  and  painful  than  to  live  under  a  roof 
and  with  a  family  which  is  not  your  own,  and  eat  a 
stranger's  bread.  If  everything  else  fails  us,  we 
would  go  back  to  that  of  course;  but  leave  no  stone 
unturned  to  prevent  the  necessity  of  doing  so,  and 
do  not  compromise  our  future  for  the  sake  of  saving 
a  trifle  now.  Yes,  our  future  it  is,  dear  Ernest,  for 
I  cannot  think  anything  can  ever  part  us  in  interests 
or  in  heart  from  this  time  forward. 

And  now  I  come  to  my  usual  entreaty  as  to 
money  matters.  For  pity's  sake,  have  no  doubt  or 
misunderstanding  on  that  head.  I  have  commissioned 
Alain  to  give  you  three  hundred  francs  for  your 
travelling  expenses,  and  for  your  first  month's  board 
and  lodging.  Besides  this,  I  am  expecting  from  day 
to  day  to  get  a  bill  for  fifteen  hundred  francs,  for 
which  I  have  sent  to  Warsaw.  As  soon  as  it  reaches 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  221 

me  I  shall  send  it  to  Paris  to  a  reliable  person,  who 
will  be  under  the  impression  the  money  belongs  to 
you,  and  who  will  pay  you  over  whatever  you  may 
want  every  two  or  three  months,  more  or  less  often 
according  as  you  may  desire.  From  the  ist  of  Octo- 
ber out  this  fund  will  be  entirely  at  your  service,  and 
on  it  you  may  reckon,  unless  some  unforeseen  cir- 
cumstance occurs,  to  defray  your  budget  for  the  year. 
If  God  grants  me  life,  I  shall  have  provided  for  the 
ensuing  one  before  this  comes  to  an  end.  Be  quite 
easy  in  your  mind.  I  will  see  you  are  not  left  in 
difficulties,  whatever  happens.  It  has  occurred  to 
me,  too,  that  you  will  want  different  clothes.  I 
think  it  would  be  wiser  to  get  them  at  St.  Malo, 
and  come  back  to  Paris  dressed  like  other  people. 
Don't  you  agree  with  me? 

I  have  given  a  hint  to  Alain,  from  whom  I  could 
not  and  did  not  like  to  conceal  the  present  state  of 
matters  completely.  I  have  told  him  you  ought  to 
have  two  suits  of  clothes  when  you  get  to  Paris,  one 
to  wear  every  day,  and  the  other  to  put  on  when  you 
go  to  pay  your  visits;  that  your  slight  experience  in 
that  line  made  me  think  it  better  everything  should 
be  bought  at  St.  Malo;  that  I  left  the  choice  of  the 
things  to  your  taste;  that  if  you  agreed  with  me 
(as  to  getting  everything  at  St.  Malo),  I  begged  he 
would  see  to  it,  and  charge  the  expense  to  me;  but 


222  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

that  if  you  should  prefer  doing  your  shopping  in 
Paris,  he  was  to  add  a  hundred  and  fifty  or  two 
hundred  francs  to  the  money  he  is  to  give  you  from 
me.  Wherever  you  may  choose  to  get  your  clothes, 
let  me  say,  dear  boy,  that  a  dark  coat  over  a  black 
vest  and  trousers  strikes  me  as  being  the  best  and 
most  suitable  dress  you  could  have.  Well,  dear 
Ernest,  I  think  I  have  foreseen  everything.  If  any 
detail  has  escaped  me,  you  must  lay  it  down  to  my 
absent-mindedness,  and  you  must  use  all  I  possess 
freely,  for  what  little  I  have  is  yours  as  much  as 
mine.  As  far  as  money  matters  go,  be  quite  easy  as 
to  what  our  brother  gives  you.  It  is  all  set  down  to 
my  account,  and  we  shall  never  have  but  one  com- 
mon purse,  you  and  I.  Yes,  my  poor  dear  brother, 
happy  days  will  come  for  us !  They  are  sure  to 
come,  so  long  as  our  affection  and  perfect  union  are 
unchanged ;  and  what  is  happening  just  at  present 
can  only  knit  them  closer.  I  feel  and  understand 
and  share  all  the  feelings  that  oppress  your  soul.  It 
is  a  cruel  moment,  I  know  well,  which  brings  the 
final  break  with  all  that  has  filled  the  dreams  and 
made  the  happiness  of  the  past.  The  heart  bleeds 
afterwards  for  many  a  day.  But  it  is  a  trial  nobody 
can  escape,  once  one's  eyes  are  opened  and  con- 
science begins  to  speak.  "Revealed  truth  is  a  law 
which  human  intelligence  cannot  refuse  to  accept. 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  223 

It  is  not  my  part  to  open  or  shut  the  door  to  it  at 
will.  It  enters  the  moment  its  coming  is  announced, 
and  commands  me  to  submit  to  its  behests."  A 
woman  wrote  the  words  I  quote.  They  are  not  the 
less  true  and  wise  for  that.  I  thank  God  fervently 
for  having  roused  the  thoughts  which  have  brought 
you  to  this  decision  before  it  was  too  late.  Ernest, 
console  yourself  in  your  present  position  by  consid- 
ering what  would  be  the  condition  of  an  upright 
man,  bound  by  irrevocable  vows  to  teach  and  impose 
on  others  things  which  his  reason,  and  perhaps  his 
conscience  even,  forbid  him  to  accept.  That  might 
have  been  your  unhappy  fate!  How  can  I  thank 
Heaven  enough  for  having  saved  you  from  it?  Be 
of  good  courage,  then;  the  path  is  full  of  thorns,  I 
know,  but  as  at  the  outset,  so  at  every  step,  you  will 
find  support  in  the  love  and  tenderness  of  your  sister, 
your  earliest  friend,  she  whose  dearest  wish,  next  to 
that  of  seeing  you  happy,  is  to  keep  a  foremost  place 
in  your  affections.  Let  this  thought  cheer  you  too, 
that  up  to  this  you  have  never  disappointed  me,  and 
that  I  feel  the  future  will  bring  me  many  fresh  hopes 
and  compensations,  and  help  me  to  forget  the  tears 
the  past  has  wrung  from  me. 

I  need  not  beg  you,  dearest  Ernest,  to  write  to 
me,  nor  entreat  you  to  send  me  your  address  as 
quickly  as  you  can!  Knowing  my  love  for  you,  you 


224  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

will  also  understand  how  utterly  you  fill  my  thoughts. 
Until  I  receive  your  Paris  address,  I  will  communicate 
with  you  through  our  brother ;  so  be  sure  you  let  him 
know  without  delay  where  he  is  to  direct  to  you.  I 
hope  you  will  write  me  a  few  lines  from  St.  Malo. 
Alas!  what  a  trial  this  distance  that  divides  us  is. 
Supposing  this  letter  goes  astray  ?  I  wrote  to  you 
twice  during  last  month  —  once  through  Emma,  who 
must  have  given  you  the  little  note  addressed  to  your- 
self, and  the  other  time  through  our  mother.  Did 
you  get  those  letters  ?  I  am  always  uneasy  about  my 
correspondence,  and  I  have  too  good  reason  to 
be  so. 

Reading  over  my  letter,  I  perceive  I  have  said  but 
little  to-day  about  the  Ecole  Normale.  Do  not  let  that 
make  you  think  I  have  changed  my  mind  about  it.  I 
should  always  have  a  leaning  in  that  direction;  but 
not  knowing  whether  you  can  get  admitted  there  or 
not,  I  do  not  enlarge  further  on  the  subject.  But  do 
not  lose  sight  of  it.  Make  up  your  mind  and  act 
accordingly,  my  dear  Ernest.  I  have  every  confidence 
in  your  good  sense  and  judgment.  There  will  be  a 
great  clamour  over  you,  of  course,  but  pray  do  not  let 
that  alarm  you.  What  is  it,  after  all,  but  empty  talk, 
which  will  be  utterly  forgotten  before  many  weeks  are 
out,  and  short-lived  anger,  easily  despised  by  one  who 
feels  his  conscience  clear,  and  knows  one  faithful,  lov- 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  225 

ing  heart  approves  him  ?  Let  them  rage,  dear  child, 
and  trust  your  own  good  sense  and  my  affection. 

I  am  yours  ever,  my  beloved  Ernest,  yours  with  all 
my  heart. 

Write  to  me  to  the  Chateau   de  Clemen  sow,  near 

Zamosc,  Poland. 

H.  RENAN. 

Superscription.  —  For  Ernest,  not  to  be  given  him 
till  he  arrives. 


XXII 

September  16,  1845. 

DEAREST  FRIEND,  —  I  was  not  far  wrong  in  my 
calculations,  when  I  wrote,  some  four  days  ago,  that 
I  was  expecting  the  immediate  arrival  of  information 
from  Paris  as  to  your  board  and  lodging  arrange- 
ments. The  answer  I  reckoned  on  came  to-day,  and 
I  hasten  to  send  it  on,  although  you  may  thus  get 
two  letters  from  me  by  the  same  post.  I  applied 
once  more  to  Mdlle.  Ulliac,  for  she  is  blessed  with 
unfailing  kindness  of  heart,  and  her  devotion  to  me 
knows  neither  change  nor  limit.  The  Monsieur  Gas- 
selin  so  constantly  spoken  of  is  the  gentleman  who 
has  been  the  bearer  of  all  my  letters  to  you  for  the 
last  two  years.  My  friend  writes  me  as  follows: — 

"I  have  just  seen  M.  Gasselin.  He  knows  a 
Q 


226  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

chemist  who  lets  furnished  rooms  to  young  men, 
provided  they  are  steady,  for  they  have  to  go  in  and 
out  through  his  shop.  He  also  knows  a  quiet  restau- 
rant close  by.  If  you  wish  it,  he  would  mention 
your  brother's  name  at  both  these  establishments, 
and  he  would  also  call  on  him  personally.  M.  Gas- 
selin  would  also  undertake  to  make  your  brother  his 
quarterly  payments,  and  to  render  him  any  friendly 
office.  He  is  a  very  worthy  man,  of  vulgar,  or 
rather  of  neglected,  education,  but  very  good-hearted 
otherwise.  It  has  occurred  to  me  your  brother  might 
care  to  enter  some  school,  such  as  M.  Galleron's,  for 
instance  (the  successor  of  M.  Hallays-Dabot),  as  a 
private  boarder.  I  could  ensure  his  being  treated 
thoroughly  well  there,  both  as  regards  intellectual 
advantages  and  creature  comforts.  A  great  many 
young  men  follow  this  plan,  so  as  to  attend  their 
lectures  and  keep  their  terms.  I  will  inquire,  in  any 
case,  whether  M.  Galleron  would  take  him  as  a  par- 
lour boarder.  Besides  this,  both  you  and  I  know  M. 
and  Madame  Pataud.  You  know  what  worthy  people 
they  are,  and  he  would  be  sure  to  be  well  taken  care 
of  there.  So  you  see  it  is  easy  to  arrange  for  his 
external  comforts,  a  matter  about  which  he  must  be 
very  ignorant  after  the  manner  in  which  his  youth 
has  been  spent.  All  I  tell  you  should  set  your  mind 
at  rest,  dear  friend.  Pray  beg  your  brother,  if  his 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  227 

mind  is  quite  made  up,  to  come  and  see  us  when  he 
returns.  We  will  go  upstairs  together  to  M.  Galleron, 
and  everything  will  soon  be  arranged.  Before  then 
we  shall  have  made  all  necessary  inquiries,  and  your 
brother  will  not  have  to  go  into  a  regular  furnished 
lodging." 

So  as  you  see,  dear  brother,  we  have  a  choice  of 
plans.  Above  all,  we  have  the  most  absolute  kind- 
ness and  friendliness  to  fall  back  on.  I  force  none 
of  this  on  you.  I  don't  make  any  obligation  of  your 
calling  on  Mdlle.  Ulliac.  I  only  desire  to  say  that  in 
case  of  any  difficulty  you  have  money  of  your  own  in 
her  keeping,  and  you  will  find  friends  in  that  house, 
not  wise  only,  but  entirely  devoted  to  your  service, 
information  of  the  most  valuable  kind,  and  constant 
news  of  your  sister  to  boot.  Perhaps  the  hotel  you 
have  already  mentioned  may  please  you  better  for 
the  first  few  days.  I  leave  that  altogether  to  you, 
only  adding  that  if,  as  I  do  not  doubt,  your  private 
studies  are  to  be  of  long  duration,  some  other  manner 
of  housing  yourself  would  seem  wiser  to  me.  Mdlle. 
Ulliac  and  M.  Gasselin  live  in  the  same  house.  Here 
is  her  address:  Mdlle.  Ulliac  Tremadeure,  40  Boule- 
vard Mont  Parnasse.  The  house  is  between  the 
Luxembourg  Gardens  and  the  Observatory.  If  you 
did  not  like  to  go  and  see  her  you  might  write  her 
a  line,  asking  her  in  the  most  polite  manner  to  beg 


228  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

M.  Gasselin  to  be  good  enough  to  call  on  you.  I  am 
sure  he  would  do  so  willingly.  And  I  am  just  as 
sure  that  Mdlle.  Ulliac  would  receive  you  with  the 
utmost  kindness.  All  I  ask  is,  that  you  should  not 
go  to  her  dressed  differently  from  other  people. 

I  now  come  to  another  and  not  less  important 
passage  in  her  letter,  dear  Ernest,  which  proves  she 
is  a  true  friend  to  me.  I  told  you  I  was  personally 
acquainted  with  M.  Stanislas  Julien,  of  the  College 
de  France.  Mdlle.  Ulliac  knows  him  even  better 
than  I  do,  and  knowing  he  was  a  great  friend  of 
M.  Quatremere's,  I  was  anxious  to  smooth  that  part 
of  your  path  by  his  means.  I  therefore  begged  Mdlle. 
Ulliac  to  go  and  see  M.  Julien,  and  to  ask  him,  in 
my  name,  to  recommend  you  to  M.  Quatremere's 
notice,  assuring  him  you  come  of  a  respectable 
family,  with  one  member  of  which  he  is  acquainted, 
and  that  your  present  change  of  front,  far  from 
being  imputed  to  you  as  a  crime,  should  be  written 
down  the  endeavour  of  an  upright  and  generous 
heart.  M.  Julien  and  his  wife  have  always  expressed 
and  apparently  felt  a  kindly  regard  for  me.  I  am 
sure  he  will  do  us  this  kindness,  and  in  as  delicate  a 
manner  as  we  could  desire.  This  is  Mdlle.  Ulliac's 
answer  on  the  subject:  "Before  your  request  as  to 
your  brother  reached  me,  I  had  already  thought  of 
mentioning  him  to  M.  Julien;  so  that  matter  is  now 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  229 

settled  between  us.  Students  of  the  Oriental  lan- 
guages are,  as  you  say,  few  and  far  between.  I 
may  safely  promise  you  M.  Julien  will  take  the 
greatest  interest  in  your  brother.  And  once  the 
great  point  is  decided,  I  will  undertake  to  interest 
M.  Victor  Mauvais,  assistant  astronomer  at  the  ob- 
servatory and  a  former  pupil  at  the  seminary,  M. 
Mathieu  (M.  Arago's  brother-in-law),  and  M.  Re- 
gnauld,  Professor  of  Physics  at  the  College  de  France, 
in  him  as  well.  Your  brother  is  really  hard-working; 
he  takes  his  studies  seriously.  The  gentlemen  I 
mention  will  think  a  great  deal  of  him,  and  he  will 
make  his  way  in  the  world.  Once  his  bonds  are 
broken  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  him,  and  then 
many  things  will  grow  clearer." 

So,  dear  Ernest,  in  this  new  world,  where  you 
dreaded  being  so  lonely,  you  will  find  some  voices 
raised  to  cheer  you  on.  M.  Julien  is  not  only  a  very 
learned  person,  he  is  a  worthy  and  very  kind-hearted 
man.  Let  hope  rise  up  in  your  heart,  then,  my  dear 
brother.  You  see  that,  far  or  near,  your  sister  strives 
to  watch  over  you  in  all  things.  Would  I  could  give 
my  letters  wings,  that  they  might  fly  to  strengthen 
you  and  tell  you  you  shall  never  be  forsaken  so  long 
as  the  breath  of  life  is  in  me !  Ernest,  do  not  break 
my  heart!  Be  guilty  of  no  weakness,  no  imprudent 
concession.  To  me,  who  know  your  inmost  thought, 


230  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

any  such  thing  would  seem  a  crime.  And  I  cannot 
think  my  opinion  is  utterly  valueless  in  your  sight. 
Recollect  this  is  a  matter  affecting  not  only  all  your 
future  life,  but  also  the  whole  peace  of  mine,  and  the 
only  happiness  this  world  can  bring  me.  I  am  worn 
out  with  anxiety.  The  only  consolation  I  have  is  in 
the  sense  that  you  are  resolved  at  last,  in  the  hope 
you  will  follow  my  advice,  in  the  thought  that  you 
are  about  to  take  a  modest  student's  lodging  for  six 
months  or  a  year  at  all  events,  and  that  you  will 
spend  that  time  in  taking  your  Bachelor's  degree, 
attending  the  great  courses  of  lectures  on  literature 
and  science,  and  preparing,  in  fact,  for  the  exami- 
nations for  admission  to  the  Ecole  Normale.  Mdlle. 
Ulliac,  whose  opinion  is  so  healthy  on  most  points,  is 
also  in  favour  of  this  plan.  She  says,  "The  idea  of 
joining  the  Ecole  Normale  is  a  very  good  one.  That 
really  constitutes  a  career."  But  I  tell  you  again 
that  I  should  be  just  as  well  pleased  to  see  you 
apply  your  mind  exclusively  to  Oriental  languages, 
provided  the  learned  professor  we  have  so  often  re- 
ferred to  sees  any  outlook  for  you  in  that  direction. 
Forgive  all  this  repetition,  dear  Ernest!  You  fill  my 
heart  and  mind  and  thoughts  and  all  my  being. 
Would  I  could  add  persuasion  to  my  words  —  would 
that  this  cry  of  my  inmost  soul  could  reach  your 
bodily  ears! 


HENRIETTE  TO  .ERNEST  231 

Dear  beloved  friend,  God  grant  your  life  may  ever 
know  affection  as  sincere  and  disinterested  as  mine! 
Farewell!  I  have  spent  a  great  part  of  the  night 
writing  all  this,  and  even  now  I  lay  down  my  pen 
regretfully.  I  am  sending  Mdlle.  Ulliac,  by  this 
same  post,  the  bill  for  fifteen  hundred  francs  I  have 
already  mentioned.  I  received  it  yesterday.  It  is 
payable  at  Messrs.  Rothschild's  on  November  roth. 
If  you  need  the  whole  sum  at  once  you  have  only 
to  say  so.  I  am  sending  it  to  my  friend,  because  in 
Paris  you  can  never  trust  servants,  especially  in 
young  men's  lodgings,  their  rooms  always  being  left 
more  open  and  unprotected  than  those  in  ordinary 
houses.  Farewell  once  more,  dear  Ernest!  I  hope 
and  believe  I  have  overlooked  nothing  on  my  part. 
May  your  own  good  sense  and  upright  conscience  do 
the  rest!  A  thousand  fond  remembrances,  my  dear 
one.  H.  R. 

Do  not  give  Mdlle.  Ulliac's  address  to  anybody 
whatever.  It  is  for  your  own  use  only. 

You  doubtless  know  Messrs.  Hallays-Dabot  &  Gal- 
leron's  establishment  by  name.  It  is  one  of  the  best 
known  in  Paris,  in  the  Place  de  TEstrapade.  M. 
Pataud,  an  acquaintance  of  mine,  also  has  a  school 
for  youths  in  the  Rue  Neuve  Ste.  Genevieve,  near 
the  Rue  des  Portes.  But  there  are  fewer  pupils,  and 


232  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

its  reputation  does  not  stand  so  high.  This  would 
not  matter  much  to  you,  as  you  would  not  follow 
the  school  curriculum.  The  boarders  at  both  these 
schools  attend  the  College  Henri  IV. 

For  Ernest,  specially  recommended  to  our  brother's 

best  care. 

§ 

XXIII 

TR£GUIER,  September  22,  1845. 

MY  DEAREST  SISTER,  —  Never  did  man  receive  a 
letter  breathing  deeper  tenderness  and  more  generous 
devotion  than  that  last  one  of  yours.  It  reached  my 
hands  at  a  moment  at  once  solemn  and  infinitely  touch- 
ing. At  the  decisive  crisis  of  my  life,  in  the  very 
arms  of  my  beloved  mother,  it  recalled  the  existence 
of  the  stay  God  grants  me  in  the  person  of  the  sister 
who  so  gladly  heaps  sacrifice  on  sacrifice  to  ensure 
the  well-being  of  those  she  loves  !  Even  if  she  had 
taught  me  nothing  for  my  future  guidance  save  the 
immensity  of  her  pure  unselfish  affection,  that  surely 
should  largely  suffice  me,  dearest  Henriette !  Must 
everything  be  appraised,  in  this  cold  world  of  ours, 
by  the  measure  of  individual  interest;  and  shall  the 
holiest  affections  of  man's  nature  be  given  no  higher 
value  than  one  based  on  selfish  calculation  ?  No,  my 
dear  one,  the  assurance  of  your  love  will  always  be 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  233 

more  precious  in  my  eyes,  a  thousandfold,  than  all 
the  practical  benefits  it  may  confer  on  me.  And  even 
should  circumstances  forbid  my  ever  profiting  by 
them,  shall  I  not  still  enjoy  the  sweetest  fruit  of  your 
affection  in  knowing  how  you  love  me  ?  I  have  been 
spending  two  months  of  happiness,  intense  and  un- 
alloyed, with  our  dear  mother.  To  my  delight,  I  find 
her  quite  unchanged.  Her  health  seems  fairly  good, 
and  she  bears  the  trying  loneliness  of  her  life  with 
the  greatest  courage.  She  lives  on  her  thoughts  of 
her  children.  Would  you  could  have  shared  some  of 
our  happy  talks!  If  the  thought  of  the  future  some- 
times instils  a  bitter  drop  into  our  present  joy,  the 
same  affection  always  reigns  alike  in  sorrow  and  in 
joy,  and  sweetens  both  to  us.  May  we  ever  hold  such 
pleasures,  which  are  always  in  our  grasp,  even  when 
we  seem  to  sacrifice  them,  more  dear  than  many  other 
and  less  pure  delights,  which  cannot  be  the  common 
lot  in  any  case,  and  which,  mayhap,  will  never  be 
bestowed !  God  knows  I  never  shall  desire  them, 
unless  the  others  are  assured  to  us. 

And  now,  dear  Henriette,  I  turn  to  the  discussion  of 
the  plans  suggested  in  your  last  letter.  A  very  serious 
one  it  is,  and  indeed  nothing  but  arguments  founded 
on  the  most  serious  reasoning  would  have  any  present 
weight  with  me.  As  regards  the  German  situation, 
I  am  still  in  the  same  mind  as  that  expressed  in  my 


234  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

last  few  letters,  the  sense  of  which  you  have  caught 
so  perfectly.  There  can  be  no  question  of  any  per- 
manent career  there;  it  is  simply  one  of  temporary 
employment,  which  would  leave  me  free  to  complete 
my  own  studies  during  my  residence  abroad.  It  fol- 
lows, therefore,  that  any  situation  which  would  so 
absorb  my  time  as  to  leave  but  little  leisure  for  com- 
paratively independent  study,  which  would  give  me  no 
chance  of  grasping  the  intellectual  movement  of  the 
country  I  might  be  living  in  —  any  merely  elementary 
tutorship,  in  short — would  appear  very  unlikely  to 
suit,  unless,  indeed,  it  carried  with  it  those  compen- 
sating advantages,  as  to  which  I  have  invested  you 
with  the  fullest  powers.  But  for  my  part  I  can 
hardly  conceive  the  existence  of  such  compensations. 
Further,  it  would  appear  to  me,  according  to  the  ideas 
about  Germany  I  have  been  able  to  form  so  far,  that 
Austria  is  far  .from  being  the  country  most  likely  to 
answer  my  purpose.  I  do  nothing,  dear  Henriette, 
but  repeat  what  I  have  so  often  said  before,  and  you 
will  perhaps  think  me  terribly  hard  to  please.  But 
the  principles  expressed  in  your  last  letter,  which  I 
completely  share,  convince  me  we  shall  agree  in  our 
ultimate  deductions.  Even  from  the  lowest  point  of 
view,  would  it  not  be  mistaken  economy  to  sacrifice 
years  which  may  be  the  most  fruitful  of  my  life  to 
mere  pecuniary  advantage?  Besides,  my  intellectual 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  235 

conscience  shudders  at  the  thought;  I  should  feel 
such  an  act  to  be  a  crime.  Wherefore,  dearest  sister, 
if  you  can  pitch  upon  a  situation  offering  all  the 
conditions  already  named  you  may  accept  it  for  me,  sure 
of  our  mother's  approval  and  my  own.  But  I  confess 
I  feel  it  unlikely  such  a  concatenation  will  be  found, 
and  that  makes  me  look  on  my  journey  as  still  prob- 
lematical in  the  extreme. 

The  case  is  different  as  to  the  idea  of  my  employing 
the  year  now  coming  on  in  taking  my  degrees  at  the 
university.  I  have  been  thinking  it  over  for  some 
time,  and  our  mother  spoke  of  it  herself,  before  you 
mentioned  it  in  your  letters.  The  matter  is  quite 
settled;  the  only  difficulty  likely  to  arise  is  as  to  the 
manner  of  its  execution.  The  one  you  suggest,  dear 
Henriette,  that  of  my  settling  in  Paris  as  a  private 
student,  while  it  proves  the  greatness  of  your  gen- 
erosity to  me,  offers  certain  drawbacks,  at  which  our 
mother  immediately  took  fright,  and  which,  I  must 
admit,  are  somewhat  serious.  I  shall,  therefore,  not 
attempt  it,  except  as  a  last  resource,  and  after  every 
other  plan  has  failed.  What  are  these  other  plans  of 
yours?  I  hear  you  ask.  I  cannot  positively  say,  my 
dearest  sister  —  I  shall  have  no  precise  information  till 
I  have  been  a  while  in  Paris  and  talked  the  matter 
over  with  all  my  friends.  But  the  following  ideas 
strike  me  as  feasible.  To  stop  on  at  St.  Sulpice  — 


236  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

the  simplest  of  all,  but  much  the  least  profitable.  I 
should  not  find  it  easy,  there,  to  get  through  all  the 
work  and  attend  all  the  lectures  necessary  for  the 
attainment  of  our  end.  Even  if  the  heads  of  the  house 
were  to  excuse  me  from  all  theological  study,  which 
is  very  unlikely,  the  general  system  of  the  life  there 
is  far  from  being  favourable  to  the  carrying  out  of 
such  a  scheme. 

M.  Dupanloup  is  more  likely  to  help  me  to  a  posi- 
tion compatible  with  my  object.  He  is  certain  to 
offer  me  something  in  his  institution  as  soon  as  I 
broach  the  subject,  for  his  staff  is  far  short  of  its  full 
number  this  year.  But  I  should  be  loath  to  accept 
any  such  position,  for,  as  you  will  doubtless  feel,  it 
would  make  the  ultimate  execution  of  our  plan  well- 
nigh  impossible.  The  utmost  I  should  care  to  do 
would  be  to  undertake  to  teach  history  or  mathemat- 
ics three  or  four  times  a  week.  In  the  first  case,  the 
time  actually  given  to  instructing  my  class  would  be 
all  I  should  lose;  and  in  the  second,  the  necessary 
study  would  be  profitable  to  myself.  As  to  the  other 
duties  —  such  as  keeping  order,  &c.  —  generally  ex- 
pected of  the  teaching  staff,  I  should  bargain  to  be 
completely  relieved  of  them.  I  would  rather,  in  fact, 
take  rank  as  a  pupil  who  helped  the  teaching  staff,  than 
as  an  actual  instructor.  I  know  several  cases  which 
make  me  believe  this  ambiguous  position  possible. 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  237 

Only  last  year  several  youths,  both  Paris  and 
country  bred,  resided  in  M.  Dupanloup's  college  under 
similar  conditions,  and  with  an  object  absolutely  iden- 
tical to  mine.  They  formed  the  nucleus  of  the  insti- 
tution Mon seigneur  Afire*  was  to  have  founded  for 
this  special  purpose,  and  proposals  with  regard  to 
which  were  repeatedly  made  to  me.  But  that  plan 
is  nothing  but  a  plan  as  yet  —  and  Monseigneur  Arfr6 
makes  more  than  he  can  carry  out.  Nevertheless, 
taking  everything  together,  I  do  see  a  possibility  of 
realising  our  desire,  though  I  cannot  specifically  indi- 
cate how  at  this  moment.  I  have  other  plans  as 
well,  but  I  want  to  have  some  certainty  of  their 
feasibility  before  I  detail  them  to  you.  This  I  hope 
to  possess  within  a  few  weeks,  and  then  I  shall  lose 
no  time  in  laying  them  before  you.  Rest  assured, 
dear  sister,  that  none  but  the  most  serious  and  con- 
scientious feeling  will  direct  my  steps,  for  which  your 
guidance  would  be  so  invaluable.  I  shall  guess  what 
you  would  say  instinctively,  and  act  accordingly. 

Though  even  now  I  am  preparing,  as  far  as  local 
circumstance  permits,  to  take  my  university  degrees, 
the  object  of  my  special  holiday  study  is  to  increase 
my  knowledge  of  German  literature.  As  its  actual 
literal  interpretation  grows  less  difficult  to  me,  I  am 
beginning  to  appreciate  its  spirit,  and  this  initiation 
marks  an  epoch  in  my  mental  being.  I  felt  as  if  I 


238  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

had  entered  some  temple  when  first  I  gained  the 
power  of  realising  its  purity,  its  nobility,  its  morality, 
its  religiousness,  if  I  may  take  that  word  and  use 
it  in  its  very  highest  sense.  How  noble  is  the 
German  conception  of  man,  and  of  man's  life.  How 
far  removed  from  the  paltry  standpoint  which  re- 
duces human  aims  to  the  mean  proportions  of  mere 
pleasure  or  personal  benefit.  To  me  it  typifies  the 
inevitable  reaction  of  the  human  mind  against  the 
spirit  of  the  eighteenth  century,  replacing  the  too 
realistic  thought  and  material  positivism  of  that  period 
by  the  purest  and  most  ideal  morality. 

That  same  reaction,  as  it  has  taken  place  here  in  the 
person  of  M.  Cousin,  and  under  the  form  of  eclecticism, 
is  as  colourless  as  imitations  are  generally  apt  to  be. 
And  what  a  difference,  too,  in  the  purity  of  the  moral 
concept.  It  reminds  one  of  the  difference  between 
Jesus  Christ  and  Socrates !  The  French  school,  scared 
no  doubt  by  the  dryness  and  severity  of  French  Catho- 
lic orthodoxy,  has  kept  itself  too  much  apart  from 
Christianity.  Every  philosopher  desires  latitude;  and 
Christianity,  as  it  exists  in  Northern  Germany,  gives  all 
any  one  can  demand  in  that  respect.  German  phi- 
losophy is  impregnated  with  Christian  morality,  with 
its  general  spirit  of  love,  of  gentleness,  of  chaste  and 
unselfish  contemplation,  at  all  events.  Ah  !  who  would 
not  be  a  Christian,  of  that  kind!  Especially  do  I 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  239 

rejoice  to  find  the  Germans  condemn  those  systems 
of  philosophy  which  would  fain  forbid  man  to  accept 
the  idea  of  the  infinite,  and  would  have  the  coarsest 
realism  rule  in  literature,  art,  and  even  morals. 

Truly  life  would  not  be  worth  living  if  man's  sole 
faculties  were  his  external  ones !  Another  thing 
which  delights  me  about  these  Germans  is  their 
happy  way  of  combining  poetry,  learning,  and  philos- 
ophy. Such  a  union  constitutes  the  ideal  thinker,  to 
my  mind.  I  find  the  highest  realisation  of  this  di- 
verse mode  of  thought  in  Herder  and  Goethe,  and 
they  consequently  attract  me  most  of  all.  Yet 
Goethe  somewhat  lacks  morality.  Faust  is  admi- 
rable, as  far  as  the  philosophy  goes,  but  its  scepti- 
cism is  heart-breaking.  The  world  is  not  like  that 
in  reality.  Absolute  truth  and  goodness  do  exist. 
We  must  believe  the  first,  and  practise  the  second. 
The  thought  of  any  different  world  is  a  perfect 
nightmare,  and  truly  Faust  is  nothing  but  a  night- 
mare !  But  what  a  picture  of  the  anguish  of  the 
doubter !  As  I  read  some  passages,  I  think  I  hear 
him  telling  my  own  private  history !  Never  do  I 
peruse  the  splendid  soliloquy,  "Wherefore,  celestial 
sounds,"  &c.,  especially  that  fine  line,  "Das  Wttnder 
ist  des  Glaubens  liebstes  Kind"  without  profound 
emotion.  This  indoctrination  into  a  new  process  of 
thought  has  helped  me  greatly  in  the  trying  times  I 


240  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

have  lately  gone  through.  What  would  become  of 
one,  at  certain  periods  in  one's  life,  if  study  and  in- 
tellectual culture  did  not  carry  one  out  of  the  exter- 
nal difficulties  with  which  one's  wearied  soul  is  strug- 
gling !  Though  indeed,  my  dearest  sister,  all  I  need 
to  help  me  bear  mine,  is  the  certainty  that  your 
heart  understands  and  shares  them.  God  grant  me 
to  prove,  some  of  these  days,  you  have  not  wasted 
your  affection  on  ungrateful  soil.  —  Your  brother  and 

your  friend, 

E.  RENAN. 

(Separate  enclosure!) 

These  lines  are  for  your  eye  only,  dearest  sister. 

Our  mother  has  doubtless  seen  the  rest  of  my  let- 
ter. You  will  know  what  modification  it  may  require. 
She  was  very  much  averse  to  the  German  plan  at 
first ;  now  she  is  beginning  to  get  reconciled  to  it. 
The  idea  of  my  studying  in  Paris  alarmed  her  even 
more,  but  I  have  contrived  to  reassure  her  a  little. 
Anyhow,  I  let  her  think  it  unlikely  at  present,  and 
only  a  possible  and  last  resource.  I  have  purposely 
exaggerated  all  its  difficulties,  and  painted  the  other 
plans  in  rather  gay  colours.  O  heavens,  my  sister, 
what  I  suffer!  I  write  this  in  secret,  and  almost  in 
the  dark.  I  hoped  to  snatch  an  easier  chance  of 
doing  it,  but  none  has  offered.  Shall  I  even  be  able 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  241 

to  slip  it  into  the  envelope?  I  shall  have  to  go  to 
St.  Sulpice.  Once  there  I  shall  follow  the  course  in- 
dicated in  my  last  Paris  letter.  Difficulties  bristle  all 
round  me,  and  even  worse  than  I  foresaw  —  I  mean 
as  regards  our  mother.  The  idea  of  any  sudden  sec- 
ularisation is  not  to  be  dreamt  of.  I  have  hit  on  a 
means  of  getting  the  private-study  plan  accepted.  I 
will  get  my  director,  in  whom  she  has  great  confi- 
dence (instilled  by  me),  to  write  to  her  on  the  sub- 
ject. I  did  the  same  at  Issy  when  I  was  in  a 
difficulty  there. 

I  hope  much  from  the  details  you  will  get  from 
St.  Malo.  Inquire,  too,  as  in  your  last  you  said  you 
would,  about  an  hotel  or  boarding-house.  The  infor- 
mation will  be  of  great  service  to  me.  O  my  God, 
into  what  a  net  hast  Thou  led  me !  The  only  issue 
I  can  see  is  through  my  poor  mother's  heart !  I  try 
to  cheer  her;  I  have  had  to  soften  matters  so  as  to 
save  her  pain.  And  then  the  struggle  in  my  own 
mind !  Cannot  you  fancy  I  have  often  been  on  the 
point  of  turning  back  ?  I  can  add  no  more.  She  is 
sitting  close  beside  me.  God  knows  I  love  and  re- 
spect her  from  the  bottom  of  my  soul.  Never  was 
filial  affection  deeper,  and  it  brings  me  nothing  but 

pain  !     Farewell,  dear  one. 

E.  RENAN. 


242  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 


XXIV 

October  10,  1845. 

Our  mother's  letter  and  yours  both  came  by  the 
last  post,  dear  Ernest.  Your  little  enclosure  claimed 
all  my  attention,  as  you  may  fancy,  for  I  felt  the 
rest  of  the  letter  did  not  fully  express  your  thoughts. 
How  I  have  suffered,  too,  from  the  signs  of  failing 
resolution  it  bore,  compared  with  your  previous  ones 
—  from  the  idea  that  your  strength  was  giving  way 
in  face  of  the  first  difficulties  confronting  you !  I 
pray,  with  all  the  strength  of  my  affection,  the  two 
letters  I  have  sent  you  to  St.  Malo  have  reached 
your  hands.  May  they  restore  your  courage  !  Above 
all,  may  they  help  you  to  avoid  fresh  mistakes !  I 
do  not  reproach  you,  my  poor  child,  for  I  see  how 
pitiable  your  condition  is ;  but  let  me  entreat  you 
not  to  give  way  to  suffering,  and  to  try  and  gather 
strength  to  put  an  end  to  a  state  of  matters  which 
must  be  perfect  torture  to  you. 

You  seem  to  me  on  the  brink  of  taking  up  one  of 
those  hybrid  positions  which  are  nothing  in  them- 
selves, which  lead  to  nothing,  and  which,  after  ab- 
sorbing one  or  two  of  the  most  precious  years  of 
your  life,  will  leave  us  in  the  same  difficulty  as  that 
with  which  we  are  now  struggling.  What,  dear  boy, 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  243 

must  the  result  be?  True,  you  will  have  acquired  a 
still  greater  conviction  of  the  utter  impossibility  of 
continuing  in  the  path  into  which  you  have  been 
forced.  But  you  will  also  have  made  every  other 
line  more  difficult,  by  wasting  time,  or  even  by  em- 
ploying it,  without  any  settled  object.  And  besides, 
who  knows  whether  fate  may  not  have  some  fresh 
trial  in,  store  for  me?  Will  it  permit  me,  then,  to  do 
that  which  I  shall  so  gladly  do  for  you  at  present? 

Well,  my  Ernest,  far  be  it  from  me  to  try  to  force 
either  my  view  of  things,  or  my  opinion  as  to  your 
proper  course,  upon  you.  My  sole  desire  is  to  be- 
seech you  to  beware  of  weakness,  which  frequently  is 
fatal  even  to  the  very  persons  for  whose  sake  one 
has  been  guilty  of  it. 

In  the  endeavour  to  spare  them  unreasonable,  and 
therefore  short-lived,  pain  one  may  be  laying  up 
real  and  bitter  sorrow  for  them.  I  cannot  under- 
stand what  could  be  so  exceedingly  distressing  to  our 
mother  in  the  very  idea  of  your  striking  out  a  new 
line,  when  it  is  so  evidently  demonstrated  that  your 
former  one  cannot  suit  you  in  future.  Rest  assured, 
my  dear  boy,  that  though  my  love  and  respect  for 
our  mother  are  as  deep  as  they  can  be,  I  should 
not  have  hesitated,  in  my  own  case,  to  write  to  her 
directly,  without  any  intermediary  whatever — "I  can 
go  no  further,  because  I  lack  something  which  no- 


244  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

body  can  give  me.  No  human  being  can  make  him- 
self believe"  That  sums  up  all  you  have  said  to  me, 
and  it  required  no  effort  on  my  part  to  understand 
that  henceforth  the  fetters  proffered  you  could  only 
bring  you  misery.  But  I  still  hope  my  two  last 
letters  may  have  raised  your  courage,  and  stopped 
you  on  the  dangerous  brink  of  compromise. 

In  my  second  I  enclosed  the  information  sent  me 
by  my  good  friend  Mdlle.  Ulliac  with  regard  to 
schools  and  lodgings.  My  one  fear  is,  that  this 
letter  may  have  missed  you  at  St.  Malo,  and  in  any 
case,  I  am  asking  Mdlle.  Ulliac  to  get  M.  Gasselin 
to  repeat  what  she  had  charged  me  to  tell  you. 
From  her  you  will  gather  that  you  need  fear 
no  difficulty  in  that  respect.  Mdlle.  Ulliac's  kind- 
hearted  emissary  has,  I  fancy,  found  just  what  you 
want,  and  whenever  you  need  his  presence,  a  line  to 
my  friend  will  always  bring  her  neighbour  to  your 
side.  I  gave  you  Mdlle.  Ulliac's  address  in  my  last 
letter.  I  only  trust  it  may  have  reached  you !  .  .  . 

I  am  constantly  with  you  in  heart  and  thought. 
I  am  in  a  state  of  the  most  cruel  uncertainty,  and 
by  a  curious  combination  of  circumstances  this  con- 
dition must  last  for  a  very  long  time.  The  journey 
to  Italy,  of  which  I  dropped  a  hint  to  our  mother, 
is  now  a  settled  affair.  We  are  to  start  in  about 
ten  days  or  a  fortnight ;  and  in  spite  of  the  anxiety 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  245 

with  which  I  expect  news  of  you,  I  shall  have  to  do 
without  that  consolation  for  many  a  day.  Do  not 
write  here,  dear  Ernest,  after  this  reaches  you. 
But  if  you  have  done  so  already,  make  your  mind 
easy.  The  letter  will  be  sent  on  to  me  at  Vienna, 
where  we  are  to  stay  two  or  three  weeks. 

If  anything  is  settled  early  in  November  write 
to  Vienna,  enclosing  your  letter  in  an  envelope  di- 
rected : — 

Madame  Catry, 

Princess  Lichtenstein, 

Hdtel  Razumowsky, 
Landstrasse, 

Vienna^  Austria. 

This  friend  of  mine,  who  is  duly  warned,  will 
safely  make  over  anything  she  receives  to  me.  The 
inside  envelope  should  merely  bear  the  words,  Mdlle. 
Renan.  Let  me  remind  you  that  Austrian  letters 
must  be  prepaid  right  up  to  the  frontier,  otherwise 
they  are  not  delivered.  You  can  direct  thus  up  till 
the  1 5th  of  November,  reckoning  a  week  for  the 
transit  of  a  letter.  If  I  get  news  of  you,  or  if  I 
have  anything  to  tell  you,  I  will  write  from  Vienna. 

Not,  my  dear  Ernest,  that  I  desire  just  now  to 
stimulate  the  zeal  of  the  persons  I  have  begged  to 
act  for  you.  A  tutorship  of  any  kind  can  only  be 
a  transitory  thing,  and  a  definite  position  is  now  the 


246  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

essential  matter  in  my  eyes.  I  understood  at  once, 
my  poor  dear  boy,  that  Austria  would  not  suit  you, 
and  I  had  requested  my  friends  to  make  inquiries  at 
Munich,  not  having  any  hope  of  getting  it  done 
in  North  Germany,  where,  unluckily,  I  have  no 
acquaintances.  I  say  unluckily,  and  yet  I  do  not 
greatly  regret  it,  for  I  can  see  no  advantage,  situated 
as  you  are  at  present,  in  your  accepting  a  position 
which  gives  you  no  future  outlook. 

Dearest  friend,  let  me  say  it  again,  think,  pray 
think  of  making  a  career,  a  future  for  yourself,  and 
shrink  from  no  sacrifice  to  attain  that  end.  It  was 
with  that  view  that  the  Ecole  Normale,  or  the  pri- 
vate study  of  Oriental  languages,  tempted  me  for 
you,  and  it  would  cost  me  much  to  relinquish  the 
idea.  My  mind  is  so  taken  up  with  you,  dear 
Ernest,  that  I  can  hardly  give  a  thought  to  the  im- 
mense journey  on  which  I  am  about  to  start.  Oh, 
what  a  consolation  it  would  be  to  my  poor  heart  if 
I  could  hear  from  you  before  I  go,  and  if  your  letter 
told  me  you  had  decided  at  last  according  to  my 
hope  and  my  desire.  You  may  be  quite  sure  you 
will  never  be  able  to  go  back  to  your  past  life ;  there- 
fore you  must  apply  your  mind  rationally  to  making 
the  best  of  your  present  position.  Your  last  letter 
distressed  me  greatly,  but  I  still  hope  much  from 
your  common-sense,  your  reason,  and  your  upright- 


HENRIETTE  TO  ERNEST  247 

ness.  You  will  realise  from  these  incoherent  lines 
that  a  thousand  duties  and  preoccupations  are  on 
me  as  I  write.  But  through  them  all  I  carry  one 
fixed  idea — you,  my  Ernest,  always  you. 

I  fancy  you  will  not  have  been  to  Mdlle.  Ulliac, 
as  I  begged  you  not  to  go  unless  you  had  broken 
your  bonds ;  and  your  last  letter  tells  me  that  is  not 
yet  the  case.  You  have  never  mentioned,  dearest 
Ernest,  a  few  confidential  lines  which  I  sent  you 
through  Emma.  I  wonder  whether  they  reached  you 
or  not  ?  Pray  tell  me  always  what  letters  of  mine 
you  have  received  in  the  intervals  between  your 
answers.  What  a  torment  it  is  to  be  in  a  constant 
state  of  anxiety  about  one's  correspondence! 

Farewell,  dear  friend,  I  have  no  time  to  finish  this, 
and  it  must  go  to-morrow.  —  I  am  yours,  my  Ernest, 

yours  always,  with  my  whole  soul. 

H.  R. 

Please  send  enclosed  note  to  our  mother.  I  scarce 
know  what  I  write.  I  have  not  even  time  to  read 
my  letter  over. 


248  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 


XXV 

MDLLE.  RENAN,  Chateau  de  Cttmensow,  near 

Poland. 


RUE  DU  POT-DE-FER,  PARIS, 
October  13,  1845. 

At  last,  my  dear,  kind  sister,  I  can  speak  unre- 
servedly, and  pour  out  all  the  anguish  of  my  soul  to 
you.  The  last  few  days  are  marked  ones  in  my  life. 
They  may  or  may  not  have  been  the  most  decisive 
of  my  existence;  they  have  certainly  been  the  most 
agonising  I  can  ever  know.  So  many  serious  events 
have  been  crowded  into  their  short  space,  that  I  can 
do  no  more  on  this  occasion  than  relate  them.  Even 
that  will  be  a  great  relief  to  me,  for  I  am  terribly 
desolate  now,  and  it  is  inexpressibly  sweet  to  this 
tired,  lonely  heart  of  mine  to  lean  on  yours. 

One  word  more,  beloved  friend,  about  the  vacation, 
which  brought  me  so  much  happiness  and  so  much 
pain  at  once.  My  position  during  it  was  of  the 
strangest.  It  is  such  a  joy  to  me  to  be  with  my 
dear  mother,  to  take  care  of  her,  to  kiss  her,  to 
cheer  her  with  my  fancies,  that  I  believe  she  would 
make  me  forget  the  most  galling  present  suffering  and 
anxiety.  And  then  the  fact  of  being  in  the  country 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  249 

of  my  birth  always  gives  me  an  indefinable  sense  of 
happiness.  All  my  childhood  comes  back  to  me,  so 
simple,  so  pure,  so  free  from  care,  and  the  thought 
of  the  old  days  is  full  of  charm  and  tenderness  to  me. 
Life  in  that  country  is  commonplace  in  a  sense,  but 
it  has  a  certain  repose  and  comfort  about  it,  espe- 
cially and  most  pleasantly  favourable  to  thought  and 
sentiment.  Ah !  how  deeply  I  feel  its  sweetness 
now!  I  am  weak,  dearest  Henriette.  Sometimes  I 
am  half  tempted  to  be  satisfied  with  a  simple,  even 
common,  life  ;  I  would  make  it  noble  by  the  dignity 
of  its  private  qualities.  But  then  I  think  of  you,  and 
I  take  courage! 

Yet  even  in  the  midst  of  so  peaceful  and  pleasant 
an  existence  you  will  easily  realise  how  painful  my 
position  as  regarded  our  mother  must  have  been.  She 
had  a  dim  suspicion  of  my  state  of  mind,  and  she 
kept  trying  to  read  the  meaning  of  every  word  I  spoke 
and  everything  I  did.  I  dreaded  her  learning  the 
truth,  and  yet  I  felt  she  ought  to  know  it.  Conceive 
my  anguish  !  The  absolute  necessity  of  making  her 
understand  the  actual  state  of  the  case,  combined 
with  the  fear  of  causing  her  pain,  misled  me  into 
doing  the  most  contradictory  things,  and  that  faculty 
our  good  mother  has  of  interpreting  everything  in 
the  sense  she  most  desires  drove  me  well-nigh  dis- 
tracted. She  would  take  no  hint  of  any  kind.  At 


250 


BROTHER  AND  SISTER 


last  one  day  the  hour  came  (I  shall  never  forget  it) 
when  I  was  forced  to  speak  more  clearly.  I  said  out- 
right that  I  was  in  a  state  of  doubt,  and  that  I  must 
wait.  Well,  she  has  been  quieter  ever  since.  The 
journey  to  Germany,  which  has  been  our  chief  topic, 
even  the  idea  of  my  following  a  course  of  private 
study,  no  longer  causes  her  the  same  terrors.  I  have 
contrived  to  connect  them  in  her  mind  with  her  most 
cherished  plans,  with  the  idea  of  our  ultimate  reunion, 
with  the  advancement  of  my  studies,  &c. 

In  fact,  my  dearest  Henriette,  I  am  very  well 
pleased  with  the  alteration  in  her  way  of  looking  at 
things,  and  I  believe  that  by  dint  of  immense  pre- 
caution we  may  be  able  to  save  her  unendurable 
suffering.  When  you  write  to  her,  keep  two  things 
before  your  mind.  First,  that  she  still  believes  me 
to  be  undecided;  second,  that  the  course  of  private 
study  is  to  lead  up  to  the  journey  to  Germany,  which 
in  itself  is  a  method  of  passing  a  certain  amount  of 
time  —  a  temporary  measure,  in  fact.  Do  not  even 
let  her  know,  till  further  orders,  that  I  am  at  an 
hotel.  Ah,  dearest  sister,  how  dear  our  mother  is 
to  me !  There  lies  my  greatest  happiness  and  my 
sorest  pain.  I  should  be  disgusted  to  notice  signs  of 
triviality  in  any  department  of  my  innermost  feelings. 
I  can  discover  none,  at  all  events,  in  this  particular. 

The  journey  to  St.  Malo  was  my  first  break  with  the 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  251 

past,  dear  Henriette.  I  found  your  letters  there,  and 
they  were  a  great  support  to  me,  as  you  may  think, 
dear  sister;  for  I  had  faltered  very  often,  and  I  do 
not  blush  to  own  it  —  I  believe  I  faltered  for  reasons 
which  deserve  respect.  I  told  Alain  everything,  and 
with  his  usual  admirable  good  sense  he  realised  and 
grasped  it  all  at  once.  He  quite  agrees  with  you 
and  me  as  to  the  nature  of  our  plans,  and  the  method 
to  employ  for  carrying  them  through.  His  deep  and 
true  affection,  his  acuteness  and  his  upright  feeling, 
have  been  the  greatest  help  to  me.  Fanny,  too,  has 
been  very  kind.  But  I  have  fought  shy  of  the  offers 
of  pecuniary  assistance  our  good  brother  has  not  failed 
to  make  me,  so  as  to  relieve  you  of  some  of  the  bur- 
den. Can  you  forgive  this,  Henriette  ?  I  remembered 
you  had  told  me  you  and  I  were  one.  Yes,  dearest, 
and  one  day  I  hope  to  have  the  joy  of  telling  you  the 
same. 

I  got  to  Paris  on  October  Qth  in  the  evening.  Since 
that  time,  dearest  Henriette,  event  has  followed  on 
event  with  startling  swiftness.  Though  firm  in  my 
resolve,  and  well  aware  that  this  rapidity  served  but 
to  hasten  its  execution,  I  would  sometimes  have  gladly 
checked  its  hurrying  speed.  As  my  last  letter  will 
have  explained,  I  was  obliged,  in  pursuance  of  the 
cautious  line  I  had  marked  out,  to  go  to  St.  Sulpice 
when  I  first  arrived  in  Paris.  I  will  frankly  own  that 


252  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

I  believed  myself  committed  to  half-measures  for  a 
considerable  time,  and  I  little  thought  an  unforeseen 
event  would  hasten  my  somewhat  lagging  feet  in  spite 
of  me.  On  my  arrival  at  St.  Sulpice,  then,  I  was  in- 
formed I  no  longer  belonged  to  that  seminary,  hav- 
ing been  selected  by  Monseigneur  Afire",  with  several 
others,  to  form  the  institution  mentioned  in  my  last 
letter,  and  which,  so  it  appears,  is  to  open  its  doors 
forthwith.  At  the  same  time,  I  was  ordered  to  call 
on  him  in  the  course  of  the  day  and  give  my  answer. 
You  may  imagine  my  state  of  mind.  It  grew  worse 
a  few  hours  later  when  I  was  told  the  Archbishop 
was  in  the  seminary  and  wished  to  see  me.  My  con- 
science imperiously  commanded  me  to  refuse  to  join 
him,  yet  it  was  impossible  to  give  my  real  reasons, 
which  would  have  been  but  ill  received  coming  from 
a  person  of  whose  character  he  possessed  no  previous 
knowledge. 

Such,  at  least,  was  the  opinion  of  the  persons  I 
consulted,  and  who  were  good  enough  to  undertake 
to  mediate  for  me  with  the  Archbishop.  The  storm 
blew  over,  and  His  Grace  was  even  kind  enough  to 
send  me  a  few  words  of  encouragement  and  hope. 

After  taking  a  public  step  of  so  clear  and  down- 
right a  nature,  I  thought  it  better  to  lose  no  time  in 
straightforwardly  pursuing  the  course  circumstances 
had  so  successfully  opened  to  me,  and  that  very  day 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  253 

I  informed  the  directors  I  did  not  intend  to  spend 
this  year  at  the  seminary.  That  evening  I  was  in 
my  hotel.  All  those  bonds  broken  in  a  few  hours, 
dear  sister.  Think  of  it!  I  have  no  regrets.  I 
revel,  on  the  contrary,  in  the  supreme  calm  that 
comes  after  the  sacrifice,  for  a  sacrifice  it  was  to  me. 
Everything  looked  so  smooth  before  me,  our  mother 
would  have  been  so  pleased,  and  I  so  peaceful  —  and 
then  at  certain  moments  my  past  life  would  take 
hold  of  me  again,  my  doubts  seemed  to  fly  away, 
and  my  act  was  evil  in  my  eyes.  Yet  I  felt  that 
was  only  the  momentary  result  of  my  normal  and 
intellectual  weariness,  and  I  knew  whenever  I  was 
quietly  settled  in  my  own  room  all  my  critical  facul- 
ties would  be  sure  to  reawaken.  In  the  course  of 
the  next  few  days  I  closed  my  relations  with  the 
authorities  of  St.  Sulpice  in  all  dignity  and  serious- 
ness. The  esteem  and  affection  they  showed  me 
gave  me  real  delight.  I  could  not  have  believed 
such  breadth  of  mind  existed  here  in  the  very  centre, 
so  to  speak,  of  the  strictest  orthodoxy.  They  are 
quite  persuaded  I  shall  go  back  to  them.  My  Hen- 
riette,  will  you  credit  it  ?  I  too  like  to  fancy  it,  and 
it  was  a  pleasure  to  me  to  hear  them  say  it.  Tax 
me  with  weakness  if  you  will.  I  am  not  a  man  to 
espouse  a  prejudice  and  resolve  never  to  relinquish 
it,  whatever  the  scientific  conclusions  I  may  ultimately 


254  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

reach ;  and  after  all,  Christianity  is  so  constituted 
that  I  can  very  well  admit  a  man  might  judge  it 
differently  according  to  the  various  phases  of  his 
intellectual  progress.  But  at  this  present  moment  I 
see  no  prospect  of  any  change  in  my  opinions,  none, 
at  all  events,  complete  enough  to  drive  me  back  into 
Catholic  and  ecclesiastical  orthodoxy. 

Once  free  of  my  fetters,  I  had  to  turn  my  thoughts 
and  efforts  in  the  direction  of  some  other  career. 
That,  in  fact,  is  my  constant  occupation  now,  both 
physical  and  mental.  Things  go  on  steadily,  every 
hour  bringing  some  fresh  event,  which  tends  towards 
the  ultimate  solution,  but  nothing  is  yet  absolutely 
settled.  Yet  I  can  perceive  near  possibilities  of  the 
most  cheering  nature.  To  continue  my  journal:  — 

The  morning  after  my  departure  from  the  seminary 
I  wrote  to  M.  Dupanloup  and  to  Mdlle.  Ulliac.  As 
I  had  no  lay  garments  to  put  on,  I  could  not  wait 
on  her  in  person.  I  begged  her  to  ask  M.  Gasselin 
to  call  on  me.  She  replied  the  very  next  day  with 
the  kindest  and  most  obliging  letter.  It  might  have 
been  from  your  own  self.  Oh,  how  she  speaks  of 
you,  my  Henriette !  How  she  does  love  you!  M. 
Gasselin  spoke  in  the  same  strain.  What  a  delight 
it  is  to  me  to  feel  we  are  not  the  only  people  who 
appreciate  you!  The  simple,  pure,  and  elevated  tone 
of  all  your  little  notes  touches  me  and  gives  me 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  255 

strength.  On  Monday,  the  I3th,  M.  Gasselin  came 
to  see  me.  He  is  acting  as  my  intermediary  in  the 
matter  of  buying  my  layman's  outfit. 

I  have  no  answer,  so  far,  from  M.  Dupanloup.  He 
is  such  a  busy  man,  it  is  well-nigh  impossible  to  get 
speech  of  him.  I  called  on  him,  but  with  no  better 
success.  A  proposal  which  I  mean  to  follow  up  has 
reached  me  from  the  Superior  of  the  seminary.  He 
desires  to  get  me  into  the  College  Stanislas  in  some 
capacity  or  other,  and  promises  me  every  sort  of 
recommendation  to  the  Principal,  M.  Gratry,  who  is 
his  intimate  personal  friend.  You  will  understand  I 
cannot  well  accept  anything  which  would  involve  too 
heavy  duties,  or  which  did  not  leave  me  very  many 
hours  for  my  own  work.  But  I  will  do  my  best. 
The  Professor  of  Hebrew  and  Scripture  at  the  semi- 
nary has  also  promised  to  recommend  me  at  once 
and  very  strongly  to  M.  Quatremere,  whom  he  often 
sees.  He  has  a  great  feeling  about  me,  as  I  am  his 
favourite  pupil.  I  have  often  acted  in  scientific  mat- 
ters between  him  and  the  learned  Professor  of  the 
College  de  France.  To  wind  up,  dear  Henriette,  un- 
less I  am  mistaken,  we  have  two  questions  before  us, 
each  quite  distinct  from  the  other.  Firstly,  "  Where 
am  I  to  settle  down.  In  the  College  Stanislas,  the 
Pension  Galleron,  &c.  ? "  And  secondly,  "  To  what 
branch  of  study  shall  I  ultimately  devote  myself. 


256  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

Shall  it  be  the  Ecole  Normale  or  Oriental  lan- 
guages?" The  solution  of  the  second  question  must 
clearly  wait  till  after  the  first  is  settled,  for  it  de- 
mands a  world  of  information  not  to  be  collected  in 
a  day.  I  cannot  go  to  Mdlle.  Ulliac  and  talk  it  all 
over  with  her  personally  until  I  have  proper  clothes 
to  wear.  That  must  surely  be  in  the  course  of  two 
or  three  days,  and  I  am  confident  I  shall  not  have  to 
spend  more  than  a  week  in  all  at  an  hotel.  The  one 
I  am  in  now  is  really  not  dear,  and  very  decently 
comfortable.1 

I  must  tell  you,  dear  sister,  that  I  am  absolutely 
resolved  not  to  live  the  whole  of  this  year  at  your 
sole  expense,  and  I  have  quite  made  up  my  mind  to 
accept  some  temporary  post  which  will  not  take  up 
much  of  my  time,  and  which  will,  to  a  certain  extent, 
be  useful  to  me.  Something  Mdlle.  Ulliac  dropped 
has  made  me  think  this  possible.  On  the  whole, 
dear  friend,  I  am  fairly  satisfied  with  the  way  in 
which  things  are  working  out,  and  I  have  little 
anxiety  on  that  score.  But  what  external  benefits 
can  ever  compensate  for  the  suffering  I  am  obliged 
to  inflict  on  our  beloved  mother,  and  the  heartache 
the  severance  from  my  happy  past  has  cost  me  ? 
Ah,  how  many  springs  of  happiness  must  be  dry  to 

1  The  hotel  kept  by  Mdlle.  Celeste,  and  mentioned  in  the  "  Souvenirs 
de  1'Enfance  et  de  Jeunesse." 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  257 

me  henceforward!  And  never,  never  can  I  drink  of 
any  that  yield  coarse  or  vulgar  pleasures!  Here  ends 
my  journal,  dearest,  up  to  this  I3th  of  October.  If 
I  were  to  send  it  off  at  once  I  might  perhaps  have 
to  write  again  to-morrow,  for  to-morrow  may  decide 
my  fate.  But  then,  again,  I  might  be  tempted,  by 
this  consideration,  to  put  off  sending  it  from  day  to 
day  until  it  is  too  late.  It  is  long,  too,  since  you 
can  have  heard  from  me,  and  my  last  letter  was  not 
over  satisfactory  as  I  remember.  Till  to-morrow  then 
I  keep  this  back,  but  to-morrow  without  fail  it  goes. 


Wednesday,  \$th  October. 

All  this  business  makes  my  head  swim.  I  am 
perpetually  thinking  I  see  the  end  of  it,  and  then  it 
all  begins  again.  Yesterday  I  was  convinced  every- 
thing would  be  settled  to-day,  and  I  put  off  sending 
you  this  letter.  To-day  I  believe  all  will  be  arranged 
to-morrow,  but  I  am  resolved  you  shall  not  suffer  any 
longer  by  my  silence.  We  are  really  getting  on.  I 
have  seen  M.  Dupanloup,  and  was  delighted  with 
him.  He  granted  me  an  interview  which  lasted  an 
hour  and  a  half,  a  perfect  miracle  for  him.  Oh,  how 
he  understood  me!  Oh,  how  he  helped  me!  He 
brought  me  back  to  that  higher  sphere  of  thought 
from  which  my  sharp  anxieties  and  the  convention- 
s 


258  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

ality  of  the  people  with  whom  I  have  had  to  deal 
had  somewhat  dragged  me  down.  I  was  quite  frank 
and  explicit,  and  he  was  very  much  pleased  with  me 
for  being  so.  I  recognised  the  man's  superior  quali- 
ties by  the  clear  and  straightforward  line  of  action 
he  recommended.  He  has  promised  to  do  all  he  can 
for  me.  I  have  also  seen  M.  Galleron.  He  does 
not  take  private  boarders,  but  he  has  recommended 
me  to  a  friend  of  his  who  keeps  a  school  (M.  Crou- 
zet,  Rue  des  Deux  Eglises,  you  must  know  the 
school),  who  has  offered  me  a  position  in  his  estab- 
lishment which  would  ensure  me  board,  lodging,  and 
laundry  expenses,  while  the  duties  to  be  fulfilled  in 
return  are  very  fair  and  reasonable.1 

Then  I  have  seen  the  Principal  of  the  College 
Stanislas  and  several  of  the  directors.  I  brought 
recommendations  with  me,  and  found  several  old 
acquaintances  as  well  who  spoke  for  me.  I  must 
confess  the  college  tempts  me;  I  feel,  dear  sister,  I 
should  be  fairly  and  honourably  treated  there.  You 
may  have  some  fears  indeed,  for  a  certain  proportion 
of  the  staff  are  churchmen,  but  the  constitution  of 
the  house  is  purely  academic.  And  I  have  been  ex- 
ceedingly plain-spoken  with  the  Principal  as  to  the  rea- 
son of  my  leaving  the  seminary.  See  what  a  capital 
mode  of  transition  thus  offers!  Nobody  will  wonder 

i  The  present  Rue  de  1'Abbe  de  1'Epec. 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  259 

at  my  going  from  St.  Sulpice  to  the  College  Stanislas, 
and  not  a  soul  will  be  surprised  at  my  moving  on 
from  the  College  Stanislas  to  some  other  house  con- 
nected with  the  university.  And  my  mother  will  be 
delighted.  She  has  mentioned  the  college  herself, 
and  pressed  me  strongly  to  enter  it.  I  go  no  further 
into  the  subject  just  at  present.  I  await  the  com- 
munications promised  me  by  Mdlle.  Ulliac  and  M. 
Dupanloup.  I  can  do  nothing  till  I  get  them.  But 
I  must  confess  I  desire  and  hope  for  a  successful 
conclusion.  Forgive  the  horrible  confusion  you  must 
perceive  in  my  ideas,  dear  sister.  All  these  practical 
matters  weigh  me  down  and  harass  me.  I  have  sworn 
allegiance  to  an  order  of  things  far  superior  to  such 
petty  questions,  and  I  will  cling  to  it  in  spite  of  every 
hindrance.  What  would  life  be  if  it  were  all  made 
up  of  such  trivialities! 

Farewell,  my  dear,  good  Henriette !  When  I  think 
of  you,  and  read  your  letters  over,  and  recollect  that 
you,  a  woman,  have  suffered  so  much  more  than  I, 
I  take  fresh  courage.  Write  to  me  soon,  through 
Alain,  through  Mdlle.  Ulliac,  I  care  not  how.  I  hope 
you  will  have  another  letter  within  a  day  or  two — by 
this  very  post,  perhaps  —  announcing  some  definite 
conclusion.  Till  then  farewell,  my  sister.  You  know 
how  tenderly  I  love  you. 

E.  RENAN. 


26o  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

Do  not  write  to  our  mother  till  you  have  got  my 
next  letter;  or  if  you  do  write,  let  her  think  I  am 
still  at  St.  Sulpice.  Leave  the  next  few  moves  as 
regards  that  delicate  point  to  me.  I  will  let  you 
know  when  it  is  time  for  you  to  take  the  initiative 
in  my  place. 

XXVI 

PARIS,  October  17,  1845. 

At  last,  my  dear  sister,  I  can  give  you  a  definite 
reply.  All  that  called  for  decision,  and  was  capable 
of  it,  just  at  present,  has  been  settled.  Only  those 
ulterior  questions  remain  which  need  leisurely  dis- 
cussion after  closer  examination  of  our  circumstances. 
Let  me  hasten  to  tell  you,  anyhow,  I  am  not  bound 
by  any  engagement,  and  by  to-morrow  morning  what 
is  done  can  easily  be  undone. 

It  is  at  the  College  Stanislas,  dear  sister,  that  I 
propose  to  sojourn  for  the  next  year.  Let  me  pray 
you,  in  Heaven's  name,  not  to  start  back  at  a  name 
which,  so  I  am  told,  may  be  displeasing  to  you ! 
Hear  me  out.  I  have  accepted  a  post  as  usher.  I 
know  how  ill  that  sounds,  and  all  the  discomforts 
the  position  involves ;  but  I  must  put  a  good  face  on 
it,  and  not  expect  to  find  my  path  bestrewn  with 
flowers  at  the  very  outset.  Well-informed  people 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  261 

assure  me  that,  in  spite  of  my  duties,  I  shall  have 
all  the  spare  time  I  could  desire.  I  shall  have  six 
hours  of  perfect  freedom  every  day.  As  the  classes 
are  small,  too,  and  the  one  I  shall  have  to  look  after 
consists  of  the  most  advanced  pupils,  I  shall  be  able 
to  go  on  with  my  work  even  during  school-time. 
And  I  have  acquired  a  certain  amount  of  habit  of 
working  in  surrounding  disturbance  and  even  down- 
right noise.  I  am  to  receive  six  hundred  francs  a 
year,  food,  firing,  &c.  This,  dear  Henriette,  is  the 
post  I  have  accepted.  Now  let  me  enumerate  the 
reasons  which  inclined  me  to  doing  so.  Then  I  will 
add  those  which  made  it  both  a  duty  and  a  necessity. 
In  the  first  place,  dear  sister,  I  shall  find  within 
the  college  all  the  necessary  facilities  for  taking  my 
degree.  Special  courses  for  preparation,  given  for 
the  benefit  of  the  teaching  staff,  who  are  still  sttidents, 
and  a  special  library  for  the  same  purpose.  One  of 
these  courses  is  delivered  by  the  Principal,  another 
by  M.  Lenormant,  another  by  M.  Ozanam.  The  two 
last  named  are  professors  at  the  Sorbonne.  Thus  I 
shall  be  in  contact  with  distinguished  and  influential 
men,  whose  advice  may  guide  me  through  this  univer- 
sity career,  which  is  more  complicated  than  you  would 
think ;  and  I  shall  be  fairly  and  honourably  treated. 
The  religious  and  semi-ecclesiastical  character  of  the 
institution  is  a  sure  pledge  of  this,  and  my  first 


262  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

relations  with  its  chiefs  have  proved  it.  You  must 
admit  that  amongst  Christians  and  ecclesiastics  worthy 
of  any  respect  one  meets  with  an  amount  of  kind- 
ness, of  charity,  as  they  themselves  call  it,  not  to  be 
found  elsewhere.  This  contrast  has  struck  me  sharply 
of  late,  since  I  have  had  to  do  with  the  two  different 
classes  of  people.  For  instance,  your  schoolmasters 
have  struck  me  as  being  disgustingly  hard  and  fast 
in  their  ideas.  I  believe  they  simply  desired  to  use 
me  as  a  tool  for  successful  speculations.  Never !  my 
dear  Henriette,  never !  I  must  be  conscious  of  a 
sense  of  morality  within  me  and  around  me  too. 
And  further,  dear  sister,  a  college  is  a  centre  where 
favourable  opportunities  occur  more  frequently  than 
elsewhere,  because  life  there  is  more  full  and  active. 
I  am  supposed  to  begin  my  teaching  duties  at  once, 
and,  as  you  know,  the  length  of  time  one  has  been 
in  a  career  counts  for  a  great  deal.  All  these  rea- 
sons seem  to  me  serious,  and  in  themselves  sufficient 
to  decide  me.  But  here  are  others  in  face  of  which 
I  could  not  hesitate.  The  Bachelor's  degree  is  by  no 
means  the  simple  affair  you  take  it  to  be,  as  far,  at 
all  events,  as  concerns  obtaining  the  requisite  certifi- 
cates. I  was  misinformed  as  to  those  preparatory 
establishments  I  mentioned  to  you.  They  do  indeed 
undertake  to  give  you  within  a  period  of  five  or  six 
months  the  necessary  scientific  knowledge  to  enable 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  263 

you  to  pass  the  examinations,  provided  you  have  got 
your  certificates  elsewhere.  But  they  do  not  give  cer- 
tificates on  their  own  account.  This  has  been 
thoroughly  explained  to  me  by  Messrs.  Galleron  and 
Crouzet,  to  whom  I  have  spoken  on  the  subject,  and 
who  must  be  better  informed  thereon  than  any  one 
else.  The  only  possible  means  they  see  would  be  a 
certificate  of  home  study,  whereby  my  brother  would 
attest  my  having  gone  through  two  distinct  twelve 
months'  courses  of  rhetoric  and  philosophy  under  his 
eyes,  and  which  document  he  would  have  legalised 
by  the  Mayor.  But  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  shall  never 
have  recourse  to  this  plan.  As  Mdlle.  Ulliac  was 
saying  to  me  yesterday,  "  Should  I,  who  have  sacrificed 
so  much  for  the  sake  of  uprightness  in  great  matters, 
do  any  less  for  it  in  small  ones?" 

Here,  then,  arises  a  very  great  difficulty.  Well, 
dearest  Henriette,  it  all  fades  away  on  my  entrance 
here.  The  Principal  has  promised  that  if  I  enter 
his  service  he  will  get  me  a  special  exemption  from 
the  Royal  Council  of  Public  Instruction,  by  virtue  of 
which  I  shall  be  able  to  take  my  Bachelor's  degree 
whenever  I  choose.  And  for  the  higher  degrees, 
the  only  document  I  have  to  be  prepared  with  is  my 
Bachelor's  diploma;  so  once  that  is  obtained  I  shall 
be  free,  and  able  to  take  my  own  time.  Lastly,  dear 
Henriette,  there  is  one  final  reason  which  appears  to 


264  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

me  almost  in  the  light  of  a  duty.  It  is  that  the 
arrangement  will  be  eminently  pleasing  to  our  mother. 
We  talked  of  the  plan,  and  she  seemed  delighted 
with  it.  I  do  not  doubt  it's  still  giving  her  great 
pleasure.  Does  it  not  seem  a  sort  of  transition  ex- 
pressly arranged  so  that  nobody's  feelings  shall  be 
hurt?  Nobody  can  think  my  removal  from  St.  Sul- 
pice  to  Stanislas  a  strange  thing.  On  the  contrary, 
all  those  I  have  been  formerly  associated  with  have 
advised  it.  Nor  can  any  one  think  it  odd  that  I 
should  move  on  from  Stanislas  to  some  other  teach- 
ing centre.  So  everything  will  pass  off  quietly.  But 
I  am  especially  delighted  on  account  of  my  poor  dear 
mother.  It  is  an  immense  weight  off  my  mind  to 
feel  the  shock  is  delayed,  and  by  that  means  greatly 
softened.  And  then  she  will  feel  it  less  when  she 
sees  a  worldly  career  opening  up  before  me.  What 
terrified  her  was  the  idea  of  my  being  "  stranded," 
as  she  called  it,  and  unable  to  get  any  situation ; 
and  she  used  to  quote  analogous  cases  to  mine 
which  really  did  make  me  shiver.  This  is  the  origin 
of  my  whole  line  of  conduct  as  regards  her,  my  dear 
sister.  She  must  have  no  more  idea  of  anything 
unusual  in  my  condition  than  she  had  before.  I  am 
in  a  state  of  hesitation;  I  have  made  a  pause,  and  I 
have  found  a  post  which  permits  me  to  do  so  with 
ease  and  safety,  because,  in  any  case,  I  see  an  open- 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  265 

ing  before  me.  This,  as  it  appears  to  me,  is  the 
position  we  ought  to  take  up  before  her.  And  I 
repeat  my  conviction  that  by  so  doing  everything 
can  be  arranged  without  too  much  suffering  for  her. 
I  do  not  know,  dear  Henriette,  if  I  have  succeeded 
in  proving  my  case  for  entering  the  College  Stanislas 
to  you;  for  I  must  confess  I  have  learnt  with  great 
pain  from  Mdlle.  Ulliac  that  it  might  displease  you. 
Indeed,  my  dear,  I  assure  you  most  truthfully,  I 
never  would  have  agreed  to  do  it  had  I  thought  this. 
But,  obliged  as  I  was  to  interpret  your  supposed 
wishes,  I  was  convinced  the  motives  I  have  summed 
up  were  more  than  sufficient  to  outweigh  a  trifling 
dislike,  instinctive  rather  than  seriously  reasoned. 
This,  too,  was  Mdlle.  Ulliac's  decided  opinion.  She 
said,  "Agree,  but  make  no  permanent  engagement, 
and  write  to  Henriette  on  the  subject."  This  I  have 
done  most  scrupulously.  The  great  objection  is  that 
the  college  belongs  to  the  Jes .  Oh,  dearest  sis- 
ter, it  cannot  really  be  possible  in  this  nineteenth  cen- 
tury that  a  clever  woman  like  you  should  trouble  her 
head  about  such  childishness.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
I  have  less  liking  than  any  one  in  the  world  for  the 
Jesuits;  indeed,  I  downright  dislike  them.  But  I 
cannot  help  laughing  heartily  at  the  wild  fancy  that 
turns  them  into  a  sort  of  bogey  to  frighten  children 
with.  That,  in  my  eyes,  is  a  very  curious  psycho- 


266  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

logical  fact,  which  I  class  with  the  faculty  that  in- 
vented Bluebeard  and  a  host  of  other  wonderful  tales 
—  love  of  mystery,  and  an  urgent  inclination  to  see 
it  in  everything.  Some  people,  I  believe,  take 
Eugene  Sue's  novels  for  true  stories.  Oh,  my  dear, 
do  not  let  us  imitate  that  folly!  The  College  Stanis- 
las is  just  like  any  other  college.  If  you  read  the 
French  newspapers,  you  must  have  seen  how  success- 
ful it  was  in  the  last  great  competition.  It  contains 
a  certain  number  of  priests,  especially  among  the 
managing  staff,  but  all  the  masters  are  ordinary  lay- 
men. Enough,  dear  sister,  on  this  head  —  though  I 
must  say  one  word  more  about  my  relations  with 
the  Principal  of  the  college  (the  Abb6  Gratry). 

They  have  been  very  peculiar,  and  I  am  astonished 
at  them  my  own  self.  During  my  first  interview  I 
dropped  a  few  words  which  struck  him.  Some  hours 
afterwards  he  sent  for  me,  and  a  long  conversation 
ensued,  during  which  we  came  to  a  perfect  under- 
standing. He  is  a  very  learned  and  very  remarkable 
man.  He  has  taken  a  strong  liking  to  me,  and 
treats  me  in  a  way  that  quite  surprises  me  —  all  the 
more  because  I  never  really  knew  any  complete  con- 
fidence arise  between  myself  and  another  person 
except  after  a  long  period  of  intercourse  during 
which  we  were  mentally  taking  stock  of  each  other. 
I  have  been  perfectly  frank  and  plain-spoken;  and 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  267 

note,  for  it  is  of  capital  importance,  that  it  is  not 
as  an  ecclesiastic  that  I  enter  the  establishment  — 
no  special  favour  is  shown  me  as  such.  I  should 
have  fought  shy  of  again  accepting  any  on  that 
score.  I  shall  wear  ordinary  lay  dress,  and  only 
those  I  choose  to  inform  on  the  subject  will  know 
what  I  have  been.  And  now  let  me  say  a  word  of 
the  delightful  visit  I  paid  last  evening  to  Mdlle. 
Ulliac.  Oh,  my  dear  sister,  how  she  did  delight 
me !  The  life  that  noble-natured  woman  leads  with 
her  mother,  modest  as  it  is  in  all  external  matters, 
is  exquisitely  and  ideally  beautiful  and  pure  to  me. 
It  made  me  think  of  my  own  mother  till  I  could 
have  wept.  Yes !  that  visit  marks  an  epoch  in  my 
life !  It  revealed  a  whole  new  sphere  of  morality 
and  virtue  to  me.  It  taught  me  there  is  something 
about  womanly  virtue  which  does  not  exist  in  man's 
—  something  sweet  and  pure  above  all  other  things. 
She  was  exceedingly  kind  to  me,  and  so  was  her 
aged  mother,  who  seemed  never  to  tire  of  talking 
about  you.  They  have  begged  me  to  visit  them 
frequently,  and  to  look  on  their  house  as  a  kind  of 
home.  How  I  thank  you,  dear  sister,  for  having 
introduced  me  to  such  unpretentious,  pure-minded 
people.  It  has  done  me  good  already.  I  was  so 
weary  of  my  late  insipid  intercourse  with  men  whose 
real  character  is  commonplace  in  the  extreme,  in  spite 


268  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

of  their  external  appearance  of  distinction.  Here  I 
find  every  quality  at  once.  I  shall  call  again  to-day 
or  to-morrow  to  take  my  letter. 

To  Mdlle.  Ulliac,  too,  I  owe  a  visit  I  have  had  to- 
day from  M.  Stanislas  Julien.  He  is  an  excellent 
fellow,  with  a  very  attractive  ease  and  briskness  of 
manner.  Unluckily,  the  presence  of  a  third  person 
inconvenienced  us  very  much.  We  had  to  keep  to 
generalities,  to  promises  of  special  privileges  at  the 
Royal  Library  and  that  belonging  to  the  institute. 
But  we  could  not  approach  the  delicate  question  as 
to  how  a  young  man  who  must  live  by  his  brains 
should  set  about  entering  on  the  career  of  a  teacher 
of  Oriental  languages.  M.  Julien,  it  seems,  can  speak 
with  authority  on  the  subject,  for  he  is  said  to  have 
been  in  that  very  position  himself.  I  am  to  go  and  see 
him  shortly,  to  fetch  the  letters  which  will  secure  me 
the  promised  library  privileges,  and  then  I  will  touch 
on  the  delicate  subject.  I  suffer  less  now,  in  my  own 
mind,  than  I  did.  The  thought  of  my  mother  is  sad 
to  me,  and  tender,  but  it  does  not  agonise  me  now. 
The  kindness  so  many  people  have  shown  me  cheers 
and  supports  me.  I  need  to  be  spoken  to  gently  and 
sensibly.  It  is  the  people  without  any  higher  aims 
who  drive  me  wild.  Oh !  happy  is  the  man  who 
can  think  in  peace,  without  worrying  himself  about 
his  daily  bread.  Every  philosopher  ought  to  come 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  269 

into  the  world  with  three  thousand  francs  a  year  of 
his  own  if  he  lives  in  Paris,  and  two  thousand  in  the 
provinces  —  not  a  sou  more  or  less.  .  .  . 

Farewell,  my  dear,  kind  sister.  Write  to  me  very 
soon,  if  you  have  not  done  it  already.  Tell  me  your 
frank  opinion  of  my  new  post,  and  I  will  follow 
your  advice.  Yes,  indeed,  my  sister,  on  that  I  am 
resolved!  You  know  the  strength  and  purity  of  my 
love  for  you !  —  Your  brother  and  your  friend, 

E.  R. 

The  fifteen  hundred  francs  will  lie  untouched.  The 
money  our  brother  has  given  me  is  more  than  enough 
to  defray  my  preliminary  expenses,  and  I  shall  have 
my  own  quarterly  payments.  I  shall  ask  your  help 
later  on,  dear  sister;  for  you  will  understand  the 
plan  of  private  study  is  only  deferred,  and  I  shall 
have  to  come  back  to  it  some  day  if  I  want  to  do 
anything  remarkable.  But  it  will  be  better  later. 


XXVII 

COLLEGE  STANISLAS,  October  31,  1845. 

MY   DEAREST    HENRIETTE,  —  Your   letter    of    nth 

October    reached    me    only    a   few    hours    ago.     The 

idea  it  gives  me,  that  you  may  yet  be  long  deprived 

of  news   of   me,    and   at  a   moment  of  such   critical 


270  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

importance  to  us  both,  has  deeply  pained  me.  I 
shudder  at  the  thought  that  you  are  still  under  the 
shadow  of  the  letter  I  wrote  you  while  I  was  with 
our  mother,  which  drew  a  picture  of  my  then  con- 
dition as  sad  as  it  was  faithful.  Who  can  tell 
whether  these  lines  may  not  reach  your  hands  be- 
fore the  few  I  sent  immediately  on  my  arrival  here, 
which  may  indeed  have  somewhat  reassured  you. 
At  all  events,  dear  sister,  they  will  have  told  you 
how,  by  the  strangest  coincidence  of  circumstances, 
all  my  bonds  fell  from  me  with  a  swiftness  that 
fairly  astounded  me;  how  I  was  able  at  once  to 
take  the  necessary  measures  for  finding  some  position 
suited  to  our  changed  plans ;  and  how  by  the  help 
of  kindly  disposed  persons,  and  especially  through 
Mdlle.  Ulliac,  several  feasible  courses  were  simul- 
taneously offered  me.  And  my  second  letter,  dearest 
sister,  will  have  explained  that,  amongst  all  these 
various  schemes,  the  one  of  settling  at  the  College 
Stanislas  was  that  I  most  inclined  to.  I  here  take 
up  the  story  of  subsequent  events,  which  have  re- 
opened a  question  I  had  thought  completely  closed. 
This,  to  begin  with,  is  the  exact  view  I  took  of 
my  position  at  the  College  Stanislas.  It  was,  I  held, 
that  of  a  layman,  yet  one  which  might  take  on  an 
ecclesiastical  shade  at  will,  and  I  flattered  myself  I 
had  thus  discovered  the  long-sought  solution  of  my 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  271 

weary  problem,  viz.,  to  reconcile  the  imperious  rul- 
ings of  my  conscience  with  the  considerations  raised 
by  my  tenderest  affections.  Alas !  my  sister,  I  was 
quite  mistaken,  and  I  see  now  I  have  been  trying 
all  along  to  discover  an  impossibility.  I  have  only 
barely  escaped  finding  myself  as  heavily  fettered  as 
before.  But  have  no  fear;  my  story  will  show  you 
that  if  you  have  had  reason,  up  till  now,  to  accuse 
me  of  some  weakness,  I  have  been  firm  and  resolute 
this  time,  even  beyond  the  strictest  demands  of  duty. 
I  was  much  surprised  on  reaching  the  college,  to 
learn  from  the  Superior  that  I  was  expected  to  wear 
my  ecclesiastical  habit  while  performing  my  duties 
within  its  walls.  I  had  no  reason  to  suspect  any 
regulation  of  the  kind,  and  indeed  I  had  certain  prec- 
edents before  me  which  warranted  my  not  having 
any  anxiety  on  the  subject.  I  made  a  great  fight 
against  this  extraordinary  order;  I  recalled  the  frank 
and  straightforward  explanation  of  my  sentiments  I 
had  given  when  we  were  discussing  our  preliminary 
arrangements ;  I  instanced  certain  names  even.  The 
answer  was  couched  in  such  a  form  as  to  leave  no 
possibility  of  immediate  answer  to  a  person  in  my 
subordinate  position.  What  was  I  to  do  ?  To  break 
matters  off  then  and  there,  or  to  enter  the  college 
provisionally,  and  thus  to  a  certain  extent  to  save 
appearances.  I  took  the  latter  course.  Was  I  right 


272  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

or  wrong?  It  would  puzzle  me  to  answer,  even  now. 
But  if  I  did  do  wrong,  it  was  by  stupidity  rather 
than  from  want  of  moral  sense.  For  I  was  firmly 
resolved  to  beat  a  retreat  in  a  very  few  days  if  I 
could  not  get  satisfaction  concerning  what  I  felt  to 
be  so  difficult  a  matter,  and  even  if  I  did  make  a 
blunder,  it  will  not  have  done  much  harm. 

A  very  few  days'  experience,  in  fact,  convinced  me 
no  middle  course  existed  for  me  between  leaving  the 
college  and  keeping  up  every  appearance  of  being 
an  ecclesiastic,  whence  I  concluded,  clearly  and  in- 
exorably, that  I  must  not  stay  on.  A  day  or  two  later 
I  told  the  Principal  so  flatly,  and  thereupon  ensued 
the  strangest  intercourse  between  us  two,  which  gave 
me  the  opportunity  of  making  a  variety  of  important 
psychological  observations.  I  feel  my  reasoning  will 
have  no  effect  on  him,  for  he  is  persuaded,  and  he 
protests  to  me  that  a  few  months  of  intellectual  com- 
munion with  him  will  change  my  views  completely. 
And  knowing  the  real  state  of  my  mind,  I  cannot 
press  those  same  reasons  of  mine  too  closely  on  him. 
So  we  are  both  of  us  very  singularly  placed.  It  is 
as  hopeless  for  us  to  understand  each  other  as  if  we 
were  speaking  two  different  languages.  Yet  he  is 
a  very  distinguished  man :  he  has  his  degree  of 
"  Docteur-es-lettres " ;  he  has  passed  through  the  Ecole 
Poly  technique,  &c.  He  strongly  urged  me  to  give 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  273 

the  matter  a  practical  trial  by  remaining  on  tempo- 
rarily, say,  for  a  few  months.  But  I  have  barely 
promised  him  a  few  days  even.  Anyhow,  whether  I 
stay  on  here  or  not,  he  has  undertaken  the  neces- 
sary steps  preliminary  to  my  getting  my  Bachelor's 
degree,  and  he  has  done  me  a  real  service  by  intro- 
ducing me  to  M.  Lenormant  and  M.  Ozanam.  I 
shall  go  up  to  be  examined  for  my  Bachelor's  degree 
by  this  latter  gentleman  within  a  very  few  days. 

Really,  my  dear  Henriette,  I  pause  and  wonder, 
when  I  cast  my  mind  back  over  the  whole  of  this 
strange  episode !  The  queerest  adventures  in  the 
world  always  come  my  way,  just  as  if  I  was  born 
to  be  worried.  But  I  can  assure  you  the  reason  I 
have  given  is  the  only  one  that  forces  me  to  leave 
the  college.  I  am  perfectly  comfortable  here  other- 
wise, and  I  give  up  a  great  deal  in  thus  relin- 
quishing what  suits  me  so  perfectly  under  present 
circumstances  and  plunging  once  more  into  all  the 
difficulties  that  tried  me  so  much  before,  and  a  suc- 
cessful conclusion  to  which  had  appeared  so  very 
doubtful.  But  duty  is  duty,  and  I  must  not  shrink 
from  a  small  sacrifice  after  having  cheerfully  made 
so  great  a  one.  Of  course  I  have  had  to  recom- 
mence the  efforts  I  had  just  ceased  making  to  find 
something  in  Paris  which  may  enable  us  to  carry  out 
our  present  programme.  I  cannot  tell  you  anything 


274  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

definite  on  that  point  as  yet.  But  I  do  not  feel  the 
least  anxious,  because  I  have  the  choice  of  two  equally 
advantageous  posts,  which  cannot  both  fall  through. 

The  first  of  these  would  be  under  M.  Crouzet,  Rue 
des  Deux  Eglises,  whom  I  have  already  mentioned 
to  you,  and  with  whom  I  have  reopened  the  negotia- 
tions which  were  broken  off  when  I  entered  the 
College  Stanislas.  He  now  makes  me  a  different 
offer,  and  a  preferable  one,  to  my  mind,  though  it 
is  less  advantageous,  financially  speaking.  He  would 
receive  me  as  an  absolutely  independent  student, 
stipulating  that  I  should  devote  an  hour  and  a  half 
every  evening  to  the  very  small  number  of  students 
of  rhetoric  and  high  mathematics  he  has  in  his 
school,  in  consideration  of  which  assistance  he  would 
only  charge  me  thirty  francs  a  month  for  my  board, 
and  he  would  even  give  me  a  certain  amount  of 
private  mathematical  teaching,  which  would  further 
equalise  the  matter.  You  see  I  should  hold  no 
office  in  the  school ;  I  should  be  a  pupil,  and  as 
such  no  school  duties,  not  even  those  expected 
of  the  teaching  staff  —  such  as  keeping  order,  sleep- 
ing in  the  dormitories,  &c. — can  be  required  of 
me.  I  shall  be  as  free  as  if  I  was  in  furnished 
lodgings,  able  to  attend  any  lectures  I  choose,  &c. ; 
only  I  shall  have  to  give  up  an  hour  and  a  half 
every  day  to  the  school  students. 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  275 

The  work  I  should  do  with  them  would  be  far 
from  being  absolutely  useless  to  myself,  and  even 
if  there  was  no  pecuniary  advantage  to  be  gained,  I 
think  I  should  like  it  for  the  sake  of  the  service 
it  might  be  to  me,  scientifically  speaking.  A  life  of 
thought  and  deep  study,  if  it  is  to  be  really  enjoy- 
able and  profitable,  must  have  intervals  given  to 
some  intellectual  occupation  not  too  fatiguing  nor 
troublesome  in  itself.  I  do  not  much  care  about  the 
man  himself,  that  is  true  enough;  but  after  all,  I 
shall  not  have  much  to  do  with  him,  so  what  does 
it  matter?  And  it  strikes  me  that  he  is  prepared  to 
treat  me  more  as  schoolmasters  treat  their  boarders 
than  as  they  are  apt  to  treat  their  staff.  You  know 
which  way  the  balance  turns!  I  believe  he  thinks 
he  will  gain  some  pecuniary  advantage.  All  the 
better  for  him,  and  for  me  too! 

The  second  opening,  which  would  hardly  fail  me, 
even  if  the  first  were  to  come  to  nothing,  is  a  similar 
arrangement  with  M.  and  Mde.  Pataud,  to  whom 
Mdlle.  Ulliac  has  kindly  introduced  me.  There  I 
should  have  to  give  up  four  hours  a  day,  and  even 
six  hours,  twice  in  the  week,  and  I  should  have  the 
supervision  (not  a  very  heavy  matter  it  may  be)  of  ten 
youths,  all  of  them  studying  rhetoric  or  philosophy. 
As  to  pecuniary  arrangements,  I  should  simply  have 
my  board  and  lodging  free.  But  if  you  will  consider 


276  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

the  difference  as  to  hours,  and  the  nature  of  the 
duties,  you  will  agree,  I  am  sure,  that  the  other  post 
presents  the  most  advantages.  At  M.  Pataud's  I 
should  be  an  official,  obliged  to  sleep  in  the  dormi- 
tory, &c.,  and  barely  able  to  say  I  have  a  room  of 
my  own. 

M.  and  Mde.  Pataud  do  indeed  seem  very  worthy 
people.  They  have  been  most  friendly  to  me  ever 
since  they  knew  I  was  your  brother,  and  have 
spoken  of  you  in  the  highest  terms  of  regard.  I 
am  certain  I  should  be  very  comfortable  with  them, 
and  so  is  Mdlle.  Ulliac,  who  in  that  refined  and 
witty,  but  simple,  way  of  hers  has  made  the  most 
indescribable  remarks  to  me  on  the  subject.  She 
vows  it  is  absolutely  necessary  I  should  have  some 
such  good  and  kind-hearted  woman  for  my  friend. 
The  idea  makes  me  laugh,  though  not  in  any  scorn. 
I  feel  my  virtue  and  good  behaviour  are  safest  in 
my  mother's  company.  And  then  you  must  remem- 
ber the  day  is  coming  when  your  presence  will  be 
essential  to  my  being,  both  moral  and  intellectual. 
No  man  should  live  alone  —  but  is  a  man  alone  who 
has  a  sister?  Do  you  know,  my  dearest,  we  shall 
hardly  recognise  each  other,  intellectually,  I  mean, 
when  we  do  meet  again!  It  is  through  our  letters 
we  have  grown  to  know  each  other  so  well.  Keep 
your  eyes  wide  open,  bodily  and  mentally  too;  then 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  277 

you  shall  tell  me  all  you  have  seen  and  felt,  and  I 
will  tell  you  all  my  thoughts,  and  so  shall  our  life  be 
full  of  quiet  interest  and  delight. 

But  to  come  back  to  the  present  time.  You  see 
things  promise  fairly  well.  The  advantages  of  the 
two  posts  I  have  mentioned  are  so  equal  that  I  shall 
have  no  regrets  whichever  fails  me.  But  I  confess 
the  first  one  tempts  me  most.  Perhaps  everything 
may  be  decided  by  to-morrow.  A  very  few  days  may 
see  me  settled  in  my  new  surroundings.  I  am  begin- 
ning to  loathe  this  provisional  state  of  things. 

I  am  very  busy  preparing  to  take  my  Bachelor's 
degree  at  once.  I  am  astonished  to  find  the  work 
so  easy;  I  really  am  ready  to  pass  now.  But  I  have 
not  got  my  papers  yet.  I  hope  not  to  have  to  wait 
for  them  beyond  the  middle  of  November.  In  my 
next  letter  I  will  explain  the  plan  of  study  I  propose 
to  follow  for  taking  my  higher  degrees.  This  time, 
dear  Henriette,  I  have  confined  myself  to  discussing 
the  solution  of  our  first  question  —  "What  temporary 
position  should  I  take  up  here  to  ensure  the  ultimate 
realisation  of  our  plans  ?  " 

Now  to  what  special  line  (the  general  direction  of 
my  career  seems  pretty  clear)  should  I  devote  myself  ? 
Here  is  another  question,  a  still  more  serious  one,  no 
answer  to  which  is  possible  as  yet;  and  indeed  it  is 
not  absolutely  pressing,  for  I  should  have  to  do  what 


278  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

I  am  doing  now  under  any  circumstances.  But  I 
already  possess  some  very  important  data  relative  to 
the  subject,  obtained  from  Messrs.  Stanislas  Julien, 
Quatremere,  and  several  members  of  the  university 
whom  I  have  consulted.  But  as  I  said,  I  keep  all 
that  for  my  next  letter,  in  which  I  shall  go  into  the 
question  fully. 

And  our  poor  dear  mother  ?  Ah,  dear  sister,  there's 
the  rub!  And  I  can  see  no  help  for  it.  It  was  on 
her  account  especially  that  I  had  plumed  myself  on 
getting  into  the  College  Stanislas.  What  will  she 
say  when  she  hears  I  have  left  it!  But  even  my 
short  stay  here  will  have  softened  matters.  This  is 
what  I  propose  doing  with  regard  to  her.  I  will  not 
mention  the  subject  at  all  till  I  get  my  Bachelor's 
degree.  Then  I  will  make  her  understand  the  knowl- 
edge which  suffices  for  that  will  not  make  me  a  Mas- 
ter of  Arts,  that  special  study  is  requisite,  and  that 
one  is  even  expected  to  attend  certain  lectures  at  the 
Sorbonne,  &c.,  that  this  cannot  be  conveniently  done 
from  this  college  —  all  of  it  true,  to  a  certain  extent. 
I  will  manage  somehow  to  put  the  best  appearance 
on  the  present  state  of  things;  but  for  Heaven's  sake 
leave  it  to  me,  and  do  not  venture  to  say  anything 
beyond  what  the  gradual  course  I  have  marked  out 
admits  of.  I  know,  dear  sister,  you  may  think  my 
conduct,  in  several  particulars,  and  especially  in  this 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  279 

one,  betrays  some  weakness.  But  you  will  allow  if 
weakness  was  ever  pardonable,  it  has  been  so  in  my 
case ;  not  that  I  apologise  for  it  —  I  love  it,  and  I 
glory  in  it.  If  ever  there  lived  a  bold-hearted  man, 
St.  Paul  was  one,  and  he  said,  "  I  glory  in  my  infir- 
mities." Oh  yes !  there  is  a  certain  holy  virtuous 
weakness,  without  which  something  would  be  lacking 
to  the  perfect  harmony  of  man's  nature.  The  per- 
fect man  must  have  some  momentary  flinching.  Do 
we  not  see  it  even  in  Christ  Himself?  It  is  only 
iron  bars  that  never  yield ! 

As  for  my  mental  condition,  dear  Henriette,  it  is 
infinitely  calmer  than  I  could  have  hoped,  and  there 
has  been  no  internal  revolution  to  correspond  with 
my  exterior  ones.  I  have  learnt  various  things,  but 
the  general  system  of  my  moral  and  intellectual  life 
has  undergone  no  change.  My  tent  is  larger,  but 
my  camping  ground  is  still  the  same.  That  departure 
from  "orthodoxy,"  which  has  had  such  a  decisive 
influence  on  my  exterior  mode  of  life,  has  had  but 
little  on  my  inner  one.  To  me  it  is  a  mere  change 
of  opinion  concerning  an  important  historical  point, 
which  does  not  alter  the  actual  basis  of  my  mental 
existence  in  the  least.  I  accept  and  faithfully  hold 
all  my  former  traditions,  practical  and  speculative, 
only  reserving  the  right  of  verifying  them  by  the 
future  results  of  my  own  study  and  meditation.  But 


280  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

still  I  trust  those  same  results  will  not  in  future 
have  to  be  announced  to  the  outer  world  by  means 
of  such  a  painful  rupture  as  that  which  has  been 
lately  forced  upon  me  ! 

Farewell,  my  dear,  kind  sister.  Write  to  me  from 
Vienna,  and  give  me  the  necessary  instructions  for 
directing  my  letters  to  you.  I  have  not  yet  told  you 
how  rejoiced  I  am  to  think  you  are  really  going  to 
Italy  after  all.  May  the  journey  make  your  exile 
seem  less  hard !  And  what  about  France,  dear 
sister?  Who  knows  what  the  future  may  have  in 
store !  We  will  cling  to  each  other,  and  hope  still, 
and  let  the  river  of  life  flow  on!  It  will  lead  us 
somewhere! 

You  know  how  tenderly  I  love  you! 

E.  RENAN. 

XXVIII 

To  MDLLE.  RENAN. 

PARIS,  November  5,  1845. 

Although  it  is  only  a  very  few  days  since  I  last 
wrote,  I  feel  I  must  do  so  again,  my  dearest  sister, 
to  relate  the  fresh  events  which  have  definitely 
settled  my  position  here,  and  to  confide  all  the 
thoughts  that  crowd  upon  me  to  your  sympathetic 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  281 

ear.  Never  did  any  situation  seem  to  call  for  more 
serious  consideration ! 

Well,  dear  Henriette,  I  have  formally  accepted  one 
of  the  two  posts  mentioned  in  my  last,  and  the  very 
one,  too,  for  which  I  then  avowed  my  preference. 
Certain  modifications  in  the  original  arrangements 
made  it  appear  still  more  advantageous.  So  I  have 
entered  M.  Crouzet's  school  in  the  double  capacity 
of  private  student  and  assistant  master.  But  at  his 
request,  instead  of  taking  the  upper  classes  only,  I 
have  undertaken  the  lower  ones,  as  far  as  their  Greek 
work  is  concerned,  the  undermaster  not  having  had 
much  practice  in  that  branch  of  study.  To  this  has 
been  added  a  private  mathematical  lesson,  to  one 
pupil  only,  three  times  a  week,  and  in  consideration 
of  these  extra  duties  I  have  my  board  and  lodging 
free.  The  whole  of  the  work  put  together  can  never 
absorb  more  than  two  and  a  half  to  three  hours  in 
each  day.  And  indeed  no  special  time  is  imposed  on 
me.  If  I  can  get  through  my  task  any  quicker,  so 
much  the  better  for  me.  Well,  having  taken  up  my 
duties  yesterday,  I  have  convinced  myself  they  will 
never  involve  my  spending  the  maximum  length  of 
time,  and  I  am  sure  an  hour  and  a  half  will  amply 
suffice  for  the  evening  teaching,  without  reckoning 
the  mathematical  lesson,  of  course. 

I  have  but  seven  pupils  altogether,  so  I  have  no 


282  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

fear,  dear  sister,  that  the  performance  of  my  func- 
tions will  unduly  rob  me  of  the  time  so  indispensably 
necessary  for  my  own  purposes  just  at  this  juncture. 
Further,  I  have  no  duties  as  to  keeping  order  in  the 
house,  nothing  to  do  with  anything  that  goes  on  in 
it ;  and  I  am  glad  of  this,  for  I  must  admit  the  school 
is  a  very  indifferent  one.  The  pupils  are  miserably 
backward,  and  the  headmaster  himself  is  far  from 
being  a  first-rate  man.  But  all  that  matters  little ;  it 
is  no  business  of  mine  to  supply  them  with  brains. 
Material  life  here,  almost  the  only  thing  I  have  to 
consider,  as  it  is  my  only  object  in  belonging  to  the 
establishment,  is  very  comfortable  indeed.  I  must 
say,  when  I  consider  that  M.  Pataud  asked  me  to 
give  four  and  sometimes  six  hours'  teaching  a  day  in 
return  for  the  same  advantages,  and  with  that  ex- 
pected me  to  sleep  in  a  dormitory,  and  do  without  a 
room  of  my  own,  I  cannot  help  thinking  the  situation 
I  have  accepted  offers  far  greater  advantages  —  and 
that  is  Mdlle.  Ulliac's  opinion  too.  But  time  will 
decide  the  question,  anyhow. 

As  soon  as  matters  get  a  little  clearer  for  us  in 
one  direction  they  seem  to  grow  complicated  in  an- 
other. The  question  of  my  Bachelor's  degree  is  now 
becoming  very  serious.  Before  attempting  any  steps 
with  regard  to  the  Minister,  M.  Gratry  thought  it 
best  to  mention  the  subject  to  M.  Rendu,  who  is  a 


THE  HOUSE  WHERE  ERNEST  RENAN    WAS  BORN 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  283 

member  of  the  Royal  Council,  and  the  special  pro- 
tector of  this  establishment.  M.  Rendu  has  strongly 
dissuaded  him  from  taking  this  course.  It  would  be 
very  difficult,  in  his  view,  to  get  any  positive  excep- 
tion made,  whatever  the  motives  of  such  a  request 
might  be.  The  authorities  are  willing  enough  not  to 
make  too  many  difficulties,  but  some  appearance  of 
legality  there  must  be ;  otherwise,  as  he  points  out, 
laws  would  become  a  dead  letter.  No  such  step 
could  be  taken,  besides,  unless  we  were  perfectly  cer- 
tain of  its  success ;  for  supposing  it  failed  in  its  ob- 
ject, every  other  opening  would  be  closed  in  future. 
What  would  the  Minister  think,  for  instance,  if  a 
certificate  of  private  study  was  presented  by  a  M. 
Renan  who,  only  a  few  weeks  before,  had  asked  to 
be  dispensed  from  giving  any  certificate  whatever, 
which  fact  naturally  presupposed  he  had  no  special 
study,  either  private  or  university,  to  show.  Several 
alarming  examples  of  this  kind  have  been  quoted  to 
me.  M.  Rendu  held  that  if  I  neither  could  nor 
would  obtain  a  certificate  of  private  study,  the  short- 
est thing  for  me  would  be  to  enter  myself  at  some 
college  for  two  years,  and  to  do  it  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible, so  that  this  present  year  might  count.  How 
shameful  it  all  is,  dear  Henriette.  How  absurd  to 
hold  a  young  man  responsible  for  the  place  where 
his  fate  has  set  him,  without  ever  considering  how 


284  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

much  he  may  have  struggled  against  it.  But  this  is 
no  time  for  argument,  dear  sister;  we  are  face  to 
face  with  facts,  and  sadly  real  ones,  alas!  What  is 
to  be  done  ?  The  idea  of  a  certificate  of  private 
study  was  excessively  distasteful  to  me,  in  the  first 
instance,  especially  on  account  of  the  difficulty  in 
which  it  would  place  Alain.  You  know,  of  course, 
he  would  have  to  get  it  legalised  by  the  Mayor  of 
the  district.  And  then  the  straightforwardness  of 
the  plan  itself  struck  me  as  doubtful.  Certain  very 
strictly  upright  people  have  endeavoured  to  remove 
these  scruples.  It  is  an  undoubted  fact  that  the 
real  value  of  these  certificates  is  very  well  known, 
and  that  the  untruth,  if  such  there  is,  'lies  in  the 
form  only.  Nobody  is  really  taken  in,  and  the  per- 
sons who  accept  the  certificates  are  perfectly  aware 
that  three  parts  of  them  are  false  as  far  as  their 
form  goes.  The  law  has  allowed  of  this  loophole  to 
lessen  the  odium  such  brutal  exclusiveness  would 
bring  with  it,  and  so  true  is  this,  that  the  regula- 
tions are  worded  so  as  evidently  to  denote  the  inten- 
tion of  permitting  the  equivocation  whenever  reason 
and  good  sense  demand  it.  Thus,  whenever  I  men- 
tion my  scruples,  everybody  laughs  at  me.  For  deceit 
ceases  to  be  deceit  as  soon  as  the  formula  used  is 
one  which,  though  false  in  itself,  is  universally  ac- 
cepted as  its  real  value.  Now  this  "private  study" 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  285 

has  grown  to  be  synonymous  with  any  study  prose- 
cuted elsewhere  than  at  the  university,  with  the  con- 
sent of  the  student's  relatives.  What  does  it  matter, 
after  all,  whether  my  father  or  brother  has  had  me 
taught  philosophy  under  his  own  eye  by  this  tutor  or 
that,  or  sent  me  to  receive  instruction  in  some  es- 
tablishment selected  by  him  ?  And  my  case  is  really 
so  pressing  and  the  injustice  of  it  so  crying,  that  I 
do  not  feel  justified  in  denying  myself  a  freedom  all 
other  people  take,  and  which  really  seems  tacitly  and 
intentionally  granted  by  the  originator  of  the  law.  I 
have  therefore  written  to  Alain.  But  you  may  imag- 
ine, dear  sister,  how  uncomfortable  it  makes  me  to 
ask  the  poor  fellow  to  do  such  a  thing.  I  have  be- 
sought him,  if  he  thinks  anything  disagreeable  is 
likely  to  ensue  for  him,  to  tell  me  so  frankly,  and 
do  nothing  more  in  the  matter.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  when  the  authorities  are  sensible  people,  they 
never  do  make  the  slightest  difficulty.  And  the 
Mayor's  signature  is  quite  unquestioned.  No  inqui- 
ries are  ever  made  as  to  the  truth  of  his  assertion, 
especially  when  the  examination  takes  place  in  a  dif- 
ferent academy  from  that  in  which  the  private  study 
is  supposed  to  have  taken  place.  I  was  afraid,  in- 
deed, for  some  time  I  might  have  to  apply  at 
Rennes,  in  virtue  of  my  having  studied  at  St.  Malo. 
But  careful  inquiries  from  the  Secretary  to  the  Fac- 


286  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

ulty  of  Letters  have  shown  this  to  be  unnecessary, 
and  that  the  whole  thing  can  be  settled  between  the 
Sorbonne  and  the  Minister  on  the  presentation  of  a 
petition  to  this  last  by  the  Dean  of  the  Faculty. 
This  is  a  mere  formality,  in  the  way  of  which  no 
difficulty  ever  crops  up.  But  unfortunately  it  always 
takes  a  long  time.  I  shall  think  myself  most  fort- 
unate if  I  contrive  to  pass  my  examination  within  a 
month.  This  tries  my  patience  terribly.  All  these 
tiresome  preliminaries  will  have  cost  me  ten  times 
the  trouble  and  anxiety  the  actual  preparation  for 
the  examination  has  given  me.  If  I  could  only  be 
sure  of  seeing  the  reward  of  my  pains !  I  await  our 
brother's  letter  with  the  greatest  anxiety. 

A  fresh  anxiety  is  on  me  now,  dear  Henriette,  and 
a  far  worse  one,  for  it  goes  straight  to  my  heart  in- 
stead of  to  my  brain,  and  you  are  its  object.  In  her 
little  note,  Mdlle.  Ulliac  spoke  of  your  health  as  being 
very  much  shaken.  I  hurried  off  at  once  to  ask  for 
an  explanation  of  this  terrible  reticence  on  her  part, 
and  the  most  dreadful  secrets  were  confided  to  me. 
What,  Henriette,  my  dearest,  you  have  been  in  suffer- 
ing, and  we  knew  nothing  of  it !  Ought  you  to  have 
hidden  it  from  me,  at  all  events  ?  I  can  understand 
your  concealing  it  from  our  mother — but  me  !  Listen, 
dearest  sister;  I  am  going  to  tell  you  something  seri- 
ous, my  firm  resolve,  the  outcome  of  my  long  talk 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  287 

with  Mdlle.  Ulliac,  of  the  league,  as  she  calls  it,  we 
have  entered  into,  she  and  I.  You  are  to  choose  be- 
tween two  things.  Either  your  travels  in  Italy  will 
lead  you  back  to  France,  and  thus  be  part  of  your 
return  journey  —  for  you  shall  never  leave  us  again, 
be  sure  of  that  —  or  else  you  will  go  no  further;  you 
will  leave  the  Zamoyskys  in  that  lovely  country,  and 
come  home  to  us  in  the  spring.  Do  you  hear,  my 
dear  one  ?  This  is  a  settled  matter,  immutable,  ir- 
revocable. So  bid  an  eternal  farewell  to  the  scenes 
you  are  passing  through,  and  yield  yourself  up  to  the 
exquisite  joy  the  certainty  your  exile  is  nearly  over 
must  inspire. 

I  can  fancy  all  the  objections  your  unselfish  devo- 
tion will  raise  against  our  fiat.  Oh !  why  cannot  I 
convince  you,  as  I  am  convinced  myself,  that  it  is  the 
very  depth  of  your  devotion  which  should  drive  you 
back  and  keep  you  with  us.  Your  health  cannot 
stand  the  strain,  that  much  is  clear ;  and  without 
you,  my  poor  dear  sister,  what  would  become  of  me? 
My  God,  I  shudder  at  the  thought !  It  took  hold  of 
me  the  moment  I  read  that  fatal  note  from  Mdlle. 
Ulliac,  and  never  shall  I  forget  the  fearful  nightmare 
it  has  been  to  me.  Henriette,  what  would  my  present 
—  above  all,  what  would  my  future  —  be  without  you  ? 
I  hereby  assure  you  that  the  instant  I  lose  you  I  bid 
farewell  to  every  interest  in  my  life,  which  will  thence- 


288  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

forth  be  colourless,  strengthless,  springless  utterly. 
In  a  word,  I  shall  be  driven  to  moral  suicide.  How 
often,  great  Heaven,  have  I  been  tempted  to  it  already, 
and  the  thought  of  you  has  saved  me,  and  made  me 
feel  life  was  good,  and  bade  me  cling  to  it !  I  should 
grow  selfish,  oh  my  sister,  with  the  most  horrible 
kind  of  selfishness !  Ah,  save  me  from  that  miser- 
able fate !  Think  of  it,  dearest  Henriette.  Remem- 
ber my  life  is  bound  up  with  yours,  and  then  you 
must  surely  realise  the  tenderest  mark  of  affection 
you  can  give  me  is  to  live  on  for  my  sake ! 

You  will  say  there  are  pecuniary  difficulties  to  be 
feared.  Dear  one,  let  me  reason  with  you  on  that 
point  too.  To  begin  with,  I  cannot  think  such  great 
people  would  let  you  depart  empty-handed  and  with- 
out any  provision  for  your  future;  that  would  be 
unheard  of.  And  further,  seeing  I  earn  my  board 
and  lodging  now,  I  am  not  likely  to  lose  ground  next 
year,  especially  as  I  shall  have  taken  my  degrees  by 
then.  A  man  with  a  Master's  degree  cannot  fail  to 
find  a  good  post,  or,  at  all  events,  what  will  lead  to 
one.  I  have  many  acquaintances  in  the  professorial 
circle  who  will  be  very  useful  to  me.  Messrs.  Julien, 
Quatremere,  Galleron,  and  Guihal  all  take  the  great- 
est interest  in  me.  I  owe  my  present  situation  to 
M.  Galleron.  M.  Guihal  has  promised  to  provide  for 
me  when  once  I  have  taken  my  degrees ;  and  besides, 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  289 

dear  sister,  I  have  plans  of  my  own,  which  I  will  enter 
into  later  on.  At  all  events,  I  have  confident  hope 
of  being  able  to  support  myself  in  future,  and  of 
being  in  a  position  to  add  my  quota  to  our  common 
fund  before  two  years  are  out,  and  that  without  preju- 
dicing my  future  or  deadening  my  best  intellectual 
powers  in  any  way. 

And  again,  my  dearest  Henriette,  I  am  sure  you 
have  no  idea  of  living  in  utter  idleness  when  you 
return,  nor  would  your  personal  tastes  permit  it. 
Mdlle.  Ulliac  has  mentioned  several  schemes,  one 
more  excellent  than  the  other.  There  was  only  one 
I  did  not  greatly  care  about,  that  of  teaching  in  a 
school,  and  I  must  admit  she  told  me  it  appeared 
highly  improbable  to  her.  Let  us  keep  clear  of  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  in  Heaven's  name!  but  she  spoke 
of  your  giving  public  lectures  for  young  girls.  A 
splendid  notion  that ;  and  of  a  newspaper  for  young 
people,  too  —  that  would  be  better  still.  Mdlle.  Ulliac 
has  reputation,  friends,  every  qualification,  I  may  say, 
that  such  an  undertaking  would  demand.  She  talks 
of  it  all  with  the  most  eager  and  infectious  enthu- 
siasm, but  she  wants  you,  Henriette ;  she  can  do  noth- 
ing, she  declares,  without  your  help.  Come  back  to 
us,  then,  my  dearest.  I  will  supply  you  with  any 
amount  of  material  —  Greek,  Latin,  Hebrew,  philo- 
sophical, philological,  theological  even,  if  you  so  desire. 


290  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

I  make  over  all  my  work  to  you  in  fee  simple.  Only 
come  back  to  us ;  that  is  my  delenda  Carthago.  It 
shall  be  the  burden  of  every  letter  of  mine  until  I 
have  convinced  you  utterly. 

Ah !  never  shall  I  forget  that  evening  on  the  2nd 
of  November,  when  Mdlle.  Ulliac  opened  my  eyes. 
Alas !  my  Henriette,  how  you  have  suffered.  And 
she  sat  and  told  me  all  about  it  here  in  Paris,  and  I 

—  I   stood   staring   with    surprise.     Nothing    but    our 
tender  care  can  ever  make  amends  for  all  you  have 
endured  for  us,  dear  love.     We  will  "  nurse  you  up," 
as   our  good   friend   puts   it.     Yes,  yes,  indeed,  dear 
Henriette,  it  is   high   time  your   loving   heart   should 
be    surrounded    by    hearts    which    throb    responsive 
to  it.     It  is   high   time,   indeed,  your  wearied,  worn- 
out  frame  should  rest  awhile   amidst   the  beings   for 
whose   sake   you  have  undergone  so  much ;    and  yet 
another    reason   which    has    long    pressed    upon    my 
mind,  and  which  Mdlle.  Ulliac  also  insists  on  greatly 

—  the  politico-religious  condition  of   Poland.     I  could 
not    speak    of    it  while    you   were    there,   but    often, 
when  I  read  the  papers,   I   shivered   at   the   thought 
that   my  Henriette  lived   in  such  surroundings.     You 
will    apprehend    my   meaning  without    another  word 
from    me.     Whoever    else    goes    there,    no     French- 
woman ever  can  return. 

I   come  back  to  the  financial  side  of  the  question, 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  291 

for  there,  I  fear,  you  will  make  the  hardest  fight; 
but  even  supposing  we  had  to  begin  by  struggling 
hard  for  our  living,  the  future  would  make  up  for 
that.  Mdlle.  Ulliac  seems  to  command  everything 
except  funds.  Well,  what  is  there  to  prevent  our 
selling  our  little  patrimonial  inheritance  should  that 
prove  necessary  ?  Our  two  shares  put  together 
would  bring  in  a  certain  amount,  and  our  mother 
would  be  quite  content  if  she  saw  it  would  lead  to 
your  settling  down  amongst  us.  That  thought 
always  overrules  every  other  in  her  mind,  and  my 
next  letter  shall  tell  you  of  all  the  plans  she  has 
woven  to  bring  it  to  pass.  And  then,  dear  Hen- 
riette,  Alain  really  loves  us ;  he  would  help  us  now 
and  then,  at  all  events.  Come  then,  my  dearest,  try 
and  take  a  brighter  view  of  things.  Should  we  not 
put  some  faith,  too,  in  the  Ruler  of  the  Universe, 
He  whom  we  have  been  taught  to  call  our  Father. 
"  Behold  the  fowls  of  the  air :  they  sow  not,  neither 
do  they  reap ;  yet  your  heavenly  Father  feedeth 
them.  Are  ye  not  much  better  than  they  ?  Con- 
sider the  lilies  of  the  field  :  they  toil  not,  neither  do 
they  spin:  and  yet  I  say  unto  you,  that  even  Solomon 
in  all  his  glory  was  not  arrayed  like  one  of  these. 
If  God  so  clothe  the  grass  of  the  field,  which 
to-day  is,  and  to-morrow  is  cast  into  the  oven,  shall 
He  not  much  more  clothe  you,  oh  ye  of  little  faith?" 


292  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

And  I  say  it  again,  my  sister;  here  is  the  most  solid 
and  truthful  of  all  my  reasons  —  remember  this  is 
a  question  of  life  and  death  to  you,  and  so  to  me. 

I  will  not  speak  just  yet,  dear  sister,  either  of  my 
schemes  for  the  less  immediate  future,  or  of  the  plan 
of  study  I  have  laid  out.  I  must  have  more  informa- 
tion before  either  can  be  absolutely  decided  upon.  I 
am  regularly  attending  the  examinations  now  going 
on  at  the  Sorbonne  for  Bachelor's  degrees,  both  in 
arts  and  science  (merely  as  a  spectator,  of  course),  so 
as  to  calculate  my  own  chances  of  success.  Yester- 
day I  took  possession  of  my  little  room.  It  is  a  very 
pleasant  one.  It  gets  all  the  fresh  air  from  the 
Luxembourg  quarter  of  the  town.  There  is  a  delight- 
ful view  over  the  Luxembourg  itself,  the  observatory, 
parks,  gardens,  and  Mdlle.  Ulliac's  little  square  house 
away  in  one  corner.  The  grounds  of  the  Deaf  and 
Dumb  Institute  are  under  my  windows.  My  chief 
recreation  is  to  watch  the  poor  little  inmates  at  their 
play. 

So  at  last,  dear  Henriette,  I  am  placed  just  as  you 
would  have  me.  You  know  how  perfectly  my  own 
tastes  are  suited  here.  My  loneliness  is  my  only  trial. 
But  then  I  shall  soon  have  you  back.  A  few  months 
will  fly  by  very  swiftly  —  that  is  all  I  reckon  for, 
dear  sister!  Sometimes,  in  the  evening  especially,  I 
have  moments  of  unutterable  sadness,  when  I  think 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  293 

of  my  mother  —  of  you,  my  Henriette  —  of  my  simple, 
happy  past  —  and  when  I  look  out  on  the  cold  world 
around  me,  so  indifferent  to  divine  truth,  and  so 
incapable  of  understanding  it.  And  then  it  is  so 
dreary  to  feel  one  is  only  perched  upon  a  bough,  and 
soon  to  take  flight  again.  How  well  I  now  under- 
stand the  truth  of  what  you  once  said  to  me  about  a 
roving  life.  Man's  instinct  is  to  settle  down,  to  take 
root  wherever  he  may  go,  and  when  the  rapidity  of 
travelling  forbids  his  doing  so,  he  suffers  in  the  end. 
Habit  is  such  a  pleasant  thing,  and  habit  can  only  be 
formed  where  one  has  time  to  settle  and  pitch  one's 
tent.  Now  I  really  begin  to  realise  how  trying  your 
life  must  have  been  these  past  ten  years.  And  how 
different  it  is  from  mine !  My  situation  is  exceed- 
ingly easy  and  pleasant  in  itself,  while  yours  .  .  . 
Heavens !  when  I  think  of  it !  How  joyful  that  day 
will  be  which  brings  you  back  to  home  and  all  its 
sweetness !  We  shall  be  so  happy  together,  my 
dear !  I  really  am  naturally  very  gentle  and  good- 
tempered.  You  will  let  me  lead  my  own  simple, 
thoughtful  life,  and  I  will  pour  out  all  my  ideas  and 
feelings  to  you.  And  we  will  have  friends  too,  noble 
in  mind  and  pure  in  life,  to  brighten  ours.  You  see, 
dear  sister,  I  paint  my  dream  of  happiness  in  the 
fairest  colours.  Remember  if  you  fail  me,  it  must 
crumble  into  dust! 


294  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

Farewell,  my  dear,  good  sister.  The  fruition  of 
the  hopes  I  live  on  lies  in  the  hollow  of  your  hand. 
You  know  what  it  all  hangs  on !  I  like  to  think  of 
your  Italian  journey  —  it  should  be  both  pleasant  and 
profitable  for  your  health,  it  seems  to  me.  But  as 
you  may  fancy,  its  chief  beauty  in  my  eyes  lies  in 
the  part  that  brings  you  nearer  home.  Pray  write 
me  often  from  your  various  stopping  places.  The 
distance  between  us  seems  nothing  to  me  now.  At 
all  events  our  letters  will  not  be  months  in  transit, 
let  us  hope.  Lean  on  my  love  just  as  I  do  on 
yours.  —  Your  brother,  your  friend, 

E.  RENAN. 

Our  poor  mother  took  the  news  of  my  having 
entered  the  College  Stanislas  very  well,  and  what 
makes  it  more  remarkable,  she  believed  I  was  entered 
as  a  layman.  We  are  really  getting  on,  but  we  must 
be  exceedingly  careful.  Do  not  let  her  know  I  have 
left  the  college.  Your  journey  in  Italy,  and  above 
all,  your  return  to  France,  will  put  other  things  out 
of  her  head.  And  then  I  paint  the  future  gaily  to 
her.  Would  that  I  could  ensure  her  happiness ! 
Imagine  my  anguish  when  I  thought  I  should  have 
to  make  her  wretched  for  ever !  Happily,  things 
have  grown  clearer,  and  I  hope  future  joy  will  atone 
for  passing  pain.  By  a  sudden  turn  of  the  wheel, 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  295 

M.  Dupanloup  and  all  his  close  adherents  have  left 
the  little  seminary.  He  has  doubtless  undergone 
what  every  superior-minded  man  belonging  to  that 
body  is  certain  to  endure. 


XXIX 

To  MDLLE.  RENAN. 

PARIS,  December  15,  1845. 

I  write  these  lines,  dear  sister,  in  a  state  of  extreme 
anxiety.  I  cannot  understand  your  long  silence,  and 
I  wear  myself  out  in  trying  to  guess  at  some  expla- 
nation which  may  somewhat  lessen  my  alarm.  We 
ought  to  have  had  a  letter  from  Vienna  more  than  a 
month  ago.  Have  you  left  that  town  ?  Is  your  letter 
lost  in  that  weary  post  ?  Did  some  unexpected  event 
retard  your  journey,  or  stop  it  altogether  ?  These  are 
the  hypotheses  on  which  I  prefer  to  dwell.  But 
when  I  think  of  your  already  failing  health,  of  the 
sufferings  you  concealed  from  me  for  so  long,  then, 
oh  my  dearest  sister,  I  get  into  a  perfect  agony  of 
fear.  My  imagination  conjures  up  every  sort  of 
terror.  I  fancy  you,  my  sister,  my  best  and  dearest 
friend,  suffering,  worn  out  with  pain,  far  from  your 
own  country  and  from  those  who  love  you  best. 


296  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

If  this  should  be  the  case,  I  do  beseech  you,  dear- 
est Henriette,  in  the  name  of  our  common  affection, 
to  let  me  know  without  delay,  and  I  will  fly  to  you 
at  once.  No  sacrifice  is  worth  thinking  about  under 
such  circumstances.  Let  me  know  everything,  my 
dear  sister,  without  restriction  or  reserve.  The  day 
when  you  might  have  feared  the  knowledge  of  your 
suffering  would  have  a  baneful  influence  on  me,  by 
driving  me  yet  further  on  the  path  I  then  was  follow- 
ing, is  gone  by  for  ever.  Its  only  present  effect  will 
be  to  spur  me  onwards,  and  urge  me  to  fresh  exer- 
tions to  put  an  end  to  your  discomforts. 

Mdlle.  Ulliac  is  the  only  person  to  whom  I  can 
confide  my  anxiety,  and  her  fears  double  mine,  for 
she  is  better  informed  than  I  about  the  sad  subject 
of  your  physical  suffering.  Oh !  what  a  weight  it 
would  be  off  my  mind  to  learn  my  Henriette  is  still 
spared  to  us,  and  travelling  joyously  and  happily 
back  to  France.  Yes !  back  to  France,  my  dearest, 
never  to  leave  it!  Of  course  the  thought  of  your 
seeing  Italy  delights  me;  but  the  great  charm  of  the 
journey,  in  my  eyes,  is  that  I  look  on  it  as  a  pleasant 
roundabout  way  of  returning  to  your  own  country. 
I  have  said  it  once,  and  I  still  maintain  it,  you  cannot 
go  back  to  Poland.  But  then,  kind  Heaven,  how  can 
I  tell  you  are  not  in  Poland  still  ?  Positively,  I  do 
not  know  exactly  what  corner  of  Europe  holds  the 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  297 

being  towards  whom  my  thoughts  so  fondly  turn. 
I  am  absolutely  at  sea  as  to  where  this  letter  will 
find  you,  and  I  have  only  put  off  sending  it  till  now, 
because  I  thought  it  would  not  catch  you  at  Vienna. 
Oh  if  I  only  get  that  thrice  blessed  letter  to-morrow, 
or  the  day  after!  But  I  have  delayed  writing  for 
so  many  days  in  the  hope  of  hearing  from  you,  that 
I  fear  if  I  put  off  sending  this  any  longer  I  shall 
cause  you  the  same  anxiety  as  that  which  now  devours 
me. 

I  have  not  the  courage,  in  my  present  painful  state 
of  tension,  to  enter  into  a  calm  discussion  of  the  im- 
portant schemes  which  fill  my  thoughts  whenever 
they  are  not  claimed  by  a  much  tenderer  interest. 
But  I  must  give  you  a  slight  sketch  of  the  chief 
events  that  have  taken  place  since  our  last  communi- 
cations, and  tell  you  the  effect  they  have  had  upon 
my  mind.  From  this  out  —  moving  about  as  you 
will  constantly  be  —  we  may  not  be  able  to  keep  up 
any  regular  correspondence  for  some  considerable 
time.  First  let  me  tell  you,  once  for  all,  dear  sister, 
that  I  am  very  comfortable  here,  and  that,  for  a  tem- 
porary arrangement,  I  really  could  not  have  hoped 
for  anything  better.  Experience  confirms  every  one 
of  my  original  opinions.  The  head  of  the  school  is 
a  very  worthy  man,  not  distinguished  either  in  intel- 
lect or  sentiments.  In  that  he  resembles  the  large 


298  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

majority  of  his  kind.  I  confess  my  first  experience 
of  actual  intercourse  with  men  has  brought  me  much 
disappointment.  Hitherto  I  have  judged  them  con- 
jecturally,  supposing  them  to  possess  certain  qualities. 
Facts  have  convinced  me  I  had  taken  them  to  be 
more  acute  and  intellectual  than  they  really  are. 
At  first  I  fancied  they  were  all  phoenixes,  and  I 
measured  every  step  I  made  and  every  word  I  spoke 
with  all  the  caution  of  a  novice.  Now  I  have  gauged 
the  people  round  me,  I  am  beginning  to  feel  more 
firm  upon  my  feet.  I  know  my  manner  is  not  like 
other  people's.  But  I  will  not  try  to  alter  it;  it  is 
natural  to  me,  and  it  answers  very  well. 

The  consideration  shown  me  here  is  really  surpris- 
ing, all  the  more  as  the  gentleman  at  the  head  of 
affairs  is  not  considerate  to  people  in  general.  But 
as  you  know,  everything  depends  on  the  attitude  one 
takes  up  at  first,  and  every  one  can,  more  or  less, 
dictate  the  tone  to  be  taken  with  himself.  When  I 
was  negotiating  with  the  proprietor  here,  I  suggested 
his  making  inquiries  about  me  from  my  old  masters 
at  St.  Nicolas.  He  went  there,  and  they  told  him 
every  kind  of  marvel  about  me.  All  this  has  done 
me  wonderful  service.  I  get  on  just  as  well  with 
the  pupils,  and  do  not  foresee  having  any  difficulty 
with  them.  I  already  have  private  teaching,  three 
times  a  week  only,  which  brings  me  in  five-and- 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  299 

twenty  francs  a  month,  and  I  hope  to  get  some 
more.  But  all  this  is  mere  sport,  my  dearest.  I  can- 
not take  any  of  these  trifles  seriously.  Let  us  talk 
—  ah  !  let  us  talk  about  our  future ! 

The  particular  direction  my  career  should  ultimately 
take  has  never  been  a  doubtful  point  with  you,  dear 
sister.  From  the  very  instant  when  we  first  began 
to  turn  over  all  these  serious  matters  together,  I  told 
you  clearly  it  must  be  one  of  those  I  should  describe 
as  intellectual.  But  as  you  will  feel,  this  word  im- 
plies a  considerable  latitude  of  choice,  and  a  wide 
field  for  my  indecision  consequently  offered.  Circum- 
stances have  narrowed  that,  and,  as  we  have  often 
agreed,  it  has  reduced  itself  to  two  alternatives, 
the  study  of  Oriental  languages,  or  entrance  at  the 
university.  I  have,  therefore,  had  to  consider  what 
advantages  and  chances  of  subsequent  success  each 
of  these  two  courses  presented  to  me.  I  began  by 
making  inquiries  about  Oriental  languages,  towards 
which  you  seemed  to  me  to  have  a  certain  leaning, 
and  I  had  the  great  good-fortune  of  being  able  to 
collect  the  necessary  evidence  from  the  lips  of  the 
very  men  most  capable  of  giving  pertinent  judgment 
on  the  subject.  As  I  had  an  introduction  from  the 
Hebrew  professor  at  the  seminary,  and  was  a  former 
pupil  of  his  own  as  well,  I  was  able  to  confer  with 
M.  Quatremere,  and  by  good  Mdlle.  Ulliac's  friendly 


300  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

offices,  aided  by  you,  my  sister,  the  good  genius  who 
guides  me  everywhere  I  go,  I  gained  access  to  M. 
Stanislas  Julien.  I  was  much  struck  by  the  perfect 
harmony  between  the  opinions  of  these  two  gentle- 
men, and  the  absolute  similarity  of  their  conclusions. 
It  was  almost  as  if  they  had  agreed  beforehand,  and 
this  singular  coincidence,  added  to  the  consummate 
wisdom  of  their  remarks,  gave  them  unquestioned 
authority  in  my  eyes. 

Each  of  them,  while  pressing  me,  with  all  the  zeal 
of  a  savant  for  his  own  special  department  of  science, 
to  continue  that  particular  line  of  study,  told  me 
frankly  I  should  be  very  foolish  to  build  any  hopes 
for  the  near  future  on  my  efforts.  These  studies  are 
so  out  of  the  common  order,  in  fact,  that  they  only 
pave  the  way  to  a  very  small  number  of  openings. 
Will  you  believe  that  when  I  looked  into  the  matter 
I  found  there  is  only  one  professorial  chair  in  the 
whole  of  France,  that  actually  held  by  M.  Quatre- 
mere,  in  which  the  languages  I  have  studied,  and 
which  I  still  desire  to  study,  viz.,  the  ancient  lan- 
guages of  the  East,  might  eventually  place  me.  Now 
M.  Quatremere  has  already  adopted  his  future  succes- 
sor in  the  person  of  M.  Emmanuel  Latouche,  nephew 
of  the  Abbe"  Latouche,  whose  acquaintance  I  made 
at  M.  Quatrem&re's  lectures;  and  if  there  were  any 
possibility  of  competing  with  him,  even  in  spite  of 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  301 

the  fact  of  his  having  been  chosen  by  his  predeces- 
sor, I  should  not  like  to  look  as  if  I  were  supplanting 
any  one. 

The  modern  Oriental  languages  do  indeed  offer 
more  choice  as  to  ultimate  employment.  There  are 
professorships  at  the  College  de  France  and  at  the 
School  for  Oriental  Languages  attached  to  the  Bib- 
liotheque  Royale,  and  then  there  are  consulships, 
interpreterships,  and  so  forth.  As  to  the  professorial 
chairs,  they  are  occupied,  and  seem  likely  to  be  so, 
as  M.  Julien  naively  remarks,  for  a  long  while  yet 
The  other  posts  mentioned  have  no  scientific  char- 
acter, and  are  evidently  not  the  kind  of  thing  we 
want.  And  besides,  the  modern  Oriental  tongues  do 
not  bring  nearly  so  rich  results  to  the  student  as  the 
ancient  ones;  and  I  really  could  not  make  up  my 
mind  to  devote  my  life  to  studies  which  would  have 
no  higher  aim  than  the  facilitation  of  commercial 
relations  in  some  shape  or  other. 

The  practical  advice  both  these  gentlemen  gave 
me  was  to  continue  my  Oriental  studies  quietly,  but 
to  take  up  some  other  ostensible  career  to  supply 
temporary  needs,  thus  leaving  myself  free  to  embrace 
any  opportunity  which  may  arise.  They  went  over 
all  the  most  famous  Oriental  scholars  of  the  day, 
and  pointed  out  to  me  that  all  of  them,  except 
those  whose  private  means  permitted  them  to  study 


302  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

as  amateurs,  had  followed  this  course.  It  shall  be 
mine  too,  my  dearest,  as  to  the  two  first  points  at 
all  events;  for  as  to  the  last,  I  shall  very  likely 
never  make  any  effort  to  create  a  position  based  on 
that  particular  portion  of  my  general  knowledge. 

But  learning  of  every  kind  has  its  value,  and  these 
languages  will  have  all  the  more  in  my  case,  because 
I  shall  be  almost  the  only  member  of  the  university 
who  knows  much  about  them.  Now  there  is  a  huge 
vein  of  information  as  to  the  affinity  of  these  East- 
ern tongues  with  the  classics  which  has  been  left 
utterly  unworked,  thanks  to  the  profound  ignorance 
of  our  most  eminent  Greco-Latinists.  There  are  sev- 
eral gaps,  too,  in  the  teaching  at  the  College  de 
France  which  will  necessitate  the  founding  of  new 
professorships,  the  holders  of  which  must  be  inti- 
mately acquainted  with  the  languages  in  question, 
so  as  to  be  able  to  lecture  on  Comparative  Philology, 
Biblical  Exegesis,  Hebrew  Literature,  and  Poetry, 
none  of  them  included  in  the  ordinary  Hebrew  course, 
which  is  purely  grammatical  in  its  nature.  I  have 
work  ready  on  these  subjects  which  I  believe  to  be 
new,  and  which  is  susceptible  of  further  and  inter- 
esting development.  The  College  de  France  is  so 
constituted  that  professorships  are  not  difficult  to 
create  for  persons  who  bring  forward  new  and 
advanced  ideas,  provided  these  are  not  supposed 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  303 

to  pertain  to  the  domain  of  any  existing  chair. 
These  are  only  dreams,  dear  sister,  but  I  want  to 
show  you  the  study  in  question  may  be  of  great 
ultimate  service  to  me,  even  in  external  matters, 
and  that  there  is  no  reason  I  should  regret  the 
time  I  have  devoted  to  it. 

The  Oriental  languages  being  thus  eliminated  from 
my  programme,  no  choice  remained  to  me.  I  was 
bound  to  turn  every  thought  and  every  effort  towards 
the  university.  I  will  not  here  enumerate  the  various 
difficulties  and  aversions  which  might  have  made  me 
shrink,  since  necessity  drives  me  to  overlook  them 
all.  I  may  even  say  frankly  that  the  university  does 
not  greatly  tempt  me,  that  the  instruction  given  there 
is  not  as  purely  scientific  as  I  could  wish,  that  I  only 
endure  the  classical  work  because  it  is  my  sole  means 
of  securing  the  right  of  independent  study,  that  clas- 
sical subjects,  as  a  rule,  are  not  to  my  taste,  &c.,  &c. 
But  all  the  same,  I  have  absolutely  resolved  to  take 
up  this  line,  especially  as  none  of  the  drawbacks  I 
have  mentioned  are  insuperable.  But  to  which  side 
of  university  teaching  shall  I  apply  myself  ?  Here  is 
a  far  more  difficult  and  debatable  problem !  The  sys- 
tem of  instruction  is  divided  up  into  four  principal 
branches  or  examination  classes:  ist,  Classical  Liter- 
ature ;  2nd,  History ;  3rd,  Philosophy !  4th,  Mathe- 
matics and  Physical  Science.  The  first  three  consti- 


304  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

tute  the  Faculty  of  Arts;  the  last,  subdivided  for 
examination  purposes  into  Mathematical,  Physical, 
and  Natural  Science,  the  Faculty  of  Science.  The 
examinations  are  so  arranged  that  no  man  can  pass 
in  one  section  of  a  Faculty  unless  he  is  very  strong 
in  the  two  others.  Thus,  for  example,  the  tests  for 
a  Philosophy  Fellowship  are  exactly  the  same,  except 
in  the  case  of  the  last  one,  as  those  for  a  History 
Fellowship.  As  a  result  of  this  arrangement  the 
only  choice  is  the  one  between  the  two  Faculties, 
and  that  indeed  has  been  the  subject  of  a  mighty 
controversy  within  me. 

Science  has  such  a  charm  for  me;  I  rank  it  so 
much  higher  than  literature,  qu&  literature,  that  I 
doubted  long  as  to  whether  I  would  not  give  myself 
up  to  it  entirely.  And  I  may  add,  without  presump- 
tion, I  was  morally  certain  in  that  case  of  rising  very 
high  in  time,  that  branch  of  study  being  less  crowded, 
and  free  from  certain  peculiarities  which  at  times 
render  the  other  almost  antipathetic  to  me.  But  the 
one  thing,  alas!  to  which  it  could  not  possibly  lead 
me  is  philosophy.  And  philosophy  it  is  that  has  made 
me  elect  for  literature,  and  overridden  the  other- 
wise powerful  considerations  that  had  given  me  pause. 
I  could  never  be  satisfied,  intellectually  speaking, 
with  a  chair  of  physical  science,  however  brilliant  its 
surroundings.  Physical  science  is  not  everything  in 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  305 

life,  and  what  is  the  use  of  learning  unless  a  man 
learns  to  know  his  own  nature  and  his  God  —  with- 
out philosophy,  in  short! 

No  study  which  excludes  all  others  has  any  fascina- 
tion for  me.  There  is  only  one,  the  queen  of  all  the 
rest,  which  sums  them  up  and  crowns  them,  which 
treats  alike  of  God  and  of  man's  soul,  and  of  his  rea- 
son, to  which  I  can  devote  myself  completely.  I  am 
far  from  thinking  philosophy  as  it  is  publicly  taught, 
as  it  must  indeed  be  taught,  answers  to  the  description 
I  have  just  given ;  but  it  is  the  branch  of  university 
teaching  which  approaches  my  ideal  most  closely,  so 
I  was  bound  to  take  it  up.  Often  have  I  cursed 
the  system  under  which  my  beloved  study  is  over- 
shadowed by  and  connected  with  others  which  are 
not  even  closely  related  to  it!  To  my  mind  (which 
is  much  more  inclined  to  science  than  to  literature) 
philosophy  should  either  have  a  separate  Faculty  of 
its  own,  or  be  incorporated  in  the  Faculty  of  Science. 
But  while  feeling  I  must  make  a  virtue  of  necessity, 
I  am  inclined  to  think  a  great  many  of  the  subjects 
which  are  here  combined  with  philosophy  not  at  all 
unsuited  to  my  particular  intelligence,  nor  unlikely  to 
be  of  service  to  me.  History  and  advanced  literary 
criticism,  as  I  find  them  in  the  works  of  Kant, 
Schlegel,  &c.,  are  quite  as  dear  to  me  as  downright 
philosophy,  of  which  they  really  are  a  certain  form. 


306  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

The  one  thing  I  find  it  hard  to  swallow  is  that 
pedantic  rhetoric  for  which  our  university  men  enter- 
tain a  respect,  to  my  thinking,  almost  laughable.  To 
many  of  them,  I  really  do  believe,  the  maker  of  the 
most  highly  polished  of  those  dull  harangues  on 
which  students  of  rhetoric  are  always  sharpening  their 
schoolboy  wit  is  the  greatest  man  upon  this  earth !  I 
nearly  fainted  when  I  had  to  drag  all  those  old  clas- 
sical rags  out  of  their  dusty  seclusion.  How  cold  and 
empty  it  all  is  when  once  one  has  sipped  the  wondrous 
nectar  of  the  only  living  science ! 

Let  me  get  back  to  hard  facts,  dear  sister.  The 
means  of  getting  a  fellowship  have  occupied  my  mind 
as  much  as  the  question  of  which  Faculty  I  was  to 
study  for.  There  can  be  no  doubt  the  surest  and 
most  brilliant  plan  is  to  enter  the  Ecole  Normale;  so 
as  soon  as  I  was  free  to  do  it,  I  set  about  collecting 
all  the  information  I  could  get,  and  to  make  assur- 
ance doubly  sure  I  made  it  my  business  to  see  the 
Principal  himself.  He  received  me  very  well,  and  the 
simplicity  with  which  I  told  him  my  story  seemed  to 
please  him.  That  you  must  know,  dear  Henriette,  is 
the  inevitable  preamble,  for  the  first  question  every 
one  asks  me  is,  "Where  I  have  been  educated."  It 
has  struck  me  wherever  I  go  that  the  word  St.  Nic- 
olas, coupled  with  the  name  of  Dtipanloup,  produces  an 
excellent  effect.  The  Principal  (M.  Vacherot),  with 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  307 

an  obliging  kindness  which  delighted  me,  gave  me  the 
fullest  information  and  all  the  necessary  lists,  &c.,  and 
added  a  few  significant  words  about  the  extreme  lib- 
eral-mindedness  of  the  university  authorities,  who,  so 
he  averred,  would  jump  at  the  opportunity  of  proving 
the  university  does  not  repudiate  persons  whose  edu- 
cation has  not  been  altogether  moulded  on  academic 
lines. 

There  are  many  pros  and  cons  about  this  matter 
of  entering  the  Ecole  Normale.  It  terrifies  me  to 
think  a  period  of  three  years,  added  to  a  year  of 
preparation,  must  elapse  before  I  can  cease  being  a 
burden  on  those  I  love,  and  to  whose  support  I  am 
so  anxious  to  contribute  as  soon  as  may  be.  Think, 
dearest  sister,  must  I  wait  four  more  years,  till  I  am 
seven-and-twenty,  before  I  can  even  begin  to  repay  all 
you  have  done  for  me?  On  the  other  hand,  suppos- 
ing I  took  my  degrees  without  entering  the  Ecole 
Normale,  even  granting  (which  I  think  unlikely)  I  had 
to  wait  so  long,  I  might  hope  to  ease  the  pecuniary 
burden  of  the  delay  by  various  temporary  expedients. 

And  then,  my  dearest,  does  not  the  idea  of  being 
tied  for  ten  years  frighten  you,  as  it  does  me  ?  Sup- 
posing the  wind  blew  from  some  unexpected  quarter, 
supposing  some  lucky  opportunity  came  my  way,  and 
I  was  bound  hand  and  foot  inexorably?  not  to  men- 


308  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

tion,  what  you  will  doubtless  feel,  that  a  certain  pas- 
sive obedience  would  be  expected  of  me,  which  involves 
a  certain  risk  of  constraint,  both  as  to  individual  taste 
and  intellectual  development.  Several  instances  of 
this  have  been  quoted  to  me.  And  again,  though  the 
outcome  of  my  solitary  studies  may  have  a  strongly 
individual  stamp,  and  so  be  less  suited  to  the  views 
of  those  who  will  have  to  judge  it,  there  will  be  all 
the  more  independence  and  originality  about  it,  and 
at  all  events,  it  will  not  be  cast  in  the  common  mould, 
a  thing  I  dread  more  than  anything  on  earth. 

In  a  word,  dear  sister,  if  I  keep  my  personal  inde- 
pendence, I  shall  have  a  far  wider  field  of  intellectual 
action.  For  instance,  I  already  have  the  outlines,  or, 
at  all  events,  the  germs,  of  various  works,  quite 
original  as  to  their  point  of  view,  which  I  should 
like  to  carry  through,  and  which  if  they  were  ulti- 
mately submitted  to  competent  authorities  might  lead 
to  something  more.  Nothing  would  be  easier  than 
this,  once  I  have  obtained  my  Master's  degree,  at  any 
rate,  supposing  I  carry  on  my  studies  by  myself.  But 
if  I  enter  the  Ecole  Normale,  any  idea  of  that  kind 
must  be  indefinitely  deferred.  The  one  really  con- 
siderable advantage  I  can  see  about  that  step  is  the 
position  it  undoubtedly  gives  you  in  the  eyes  of 
others,  and  the  acquaintances  it  naturally  procures 
you  without  any  effort  or  intrigue  on  your  part. 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  309 

Simple  and  retiring  as  I  am  by  nature,  it  is  a  great 
trial  to  me  to  have  to  endeavour  to  put  myself  for- 
ward. In  an  isolated  position,  with  all  its  drawbacks, 
with  no  central  body  to  assist  me,  I  should  have  to 
try  and  make  myself  known,  to  attract  attention,  in 
fact,  in  quarters  whence  I  may  look  for  ultimate  sup- 
port. A  situation  which  is  naturally  within  the  gen- 
eral view,  and  which  by  the  very  fact  of  one's  holding 
it  attracts  men's  eyes,  is  surely  much  to  be  preferred. 
As  to  the  entrance  examination  and  my  chances 
of  success  in  it,  here,  dear  sister,  is  my  plain  opinion. 
Though  want  of  confidence  in  my  own  powers  is  not 
my  usual  failing,  I  confess  I  cannot  look  forward  to 
this  trial  of  them  without  a  certain  amount  of  alarm. 
It  is  easier  than  the  examination  for  the  Master's 
degree  evidently,  for  students  who  have  passed  it  are 
supposed  to  give  up  a  year  or  two  afterwards  to 
preparation  for  that.  Now  my  idea,  if  I  do  not  get 
into  the  Ecole  Normale,  would  be  to  go  up  for  my 
degree  in  a  year's  time.  All  the  more  reason,  say 
you,  for  my  not  being  afraid  of  the  entrance  examina- 
tion. Not  at  all,  dear  sister.  The  maxim  that  the 
greater  strength  presupposes  the  lesser  has  no  point 
in  this  case,  because  the  tests  are  different  in  their 
nature,  especially  as  regards  the  written  work,  which 
constitutes  the  really  difficult  and  important  portion 
of  them. 


3io  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

The  essays  for  the  degree  examination  are  critical 
and  philosophical  dissertations  quite  in  accord  with  my 
turn  of  mind.  Those  required  at  the  entrance  exam- 
ination, on  the  contrary,  are  rhetorical  compositions, 
to  which  I  have  always  felt  the  greatest  repugnance. 
Besides  this,  the  candidates  for  admission  are  most 
of  them  young  men,  fresh  from  their  rhetorical  and 
philosophical  lectures,  and  full  of  the  ardour  of  youth. 
I  am  old  already,  and  I  cannot  but  laugh  at  their 
schoolboy  fervour.  However,  everything  depends  on 
the  nature  of  the  subject  given  out,  and  I  think  it 
will  be  one  I  shall  be  able  to  discuss  with  considerable 
success  by  treating  it  from  my  own  particular  point 
of  view.  As  to  my  mvd  voce,  I  have  no  fears.  I  am 
more  than  equal  to  all  that. 

In  spite  of  my  hesitation  between  these  various 
reasons,  all  of  which  have  so  much  weight,  there  can 
be  no  doubt  as  to  my  line  of  conduct.  My  prepara- 
tory work  must,  in  fact,  be  much  the  same,  whether 
I  propose  to  enter  the  Ecole  Normale  or  go  up  at 
once  for  my  degree.  My  decision  would  make  but 
little  change  in  my  actual  practice.  So  we  have 
plenty  of  time  to  make  up  our  minds  and  prosecute 
further  inquiries.  I  have  just  discovered  that  one 
of  my  old  classmates  is  actually  at  the  Ecole  Nor- 
male. I  intend  to  go  and  see  him  within  the  next 
few  days,  and  to  ask  him  for  information  which 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  311 

will  doubtless  prove  interesting.  Further,  I  have 
lately,  through  one  of  my  old  schoolfellows  and  best 
friends  at  St.  Sulpice,  and  his  near  relation,  made 
the  acquaintance  of  M.  Feugere,  Professor  of  Rhet- 
oric at  the  College  Henri  IV.  (whose  pupils  here  I 
overlook).  There  was  some  idea  at  first  of  his  giv- 
ing me  instruction  in  my  preparatory  work ;  but  he 
did  not  care  to  undertake  this  regularly  and  conse- 
quently accept  remuneration  for  doing  it,  which  had 
been  the  original  plan  as  arranged  between  my  St. 
Sulpice  friend  and  myself.  He  has  agreed,  however, 
very  willingly,  to  give  me  all  the  assistance  I  need, 
and  has  advised  my  doing  any  I  choose  of  the  papers 
he  sets  his  pupils,  all  of  which  pass  through  my 
hands,  he  undertaking  to  look  them  over  and  cor- 
rect them.  For  regular  "  coaching "  he  has  recom- 
mended me  to  apply  to  M.  Egger,  Professor  of  Greek 
Literature  at  the  Sorbonne,  a  celebrated  Greek  scholar, 
who  has  established  special  lectures  for  students  pre- 
paring for  entrance  or  degree  examinations,  and  not 
belonging  to  the  Ecole  Normale. 

I  forthwith  called  on  M.  Egger,  to  whom  M. 
Feugere  had  already  been  good  enough  to  mention 
me  privately.  Unluckily  his  lecture  is  limited  by 
the  authorities  to  fifteen  students,  and  the  number  is 
full.  But  I  am  sure  of  the  first  vacancy.  It  will 
cost  us  a  hundred  francs  a  year,  but  I  really  believe 


312 


BROTHER  AND  SISTER 


the  money  could  not  be  laid  out  better.  A  still 
more  important  point  is  that  M.  Egger  is  also  lect- 
urer (professor)  at  the  Ecole  Normale,  and  conse- 
quently a  member  of  the  board  of  admission. 

I  run  on,  dear  sister,  and  yet  there  are  so  many 
more  things  I  might  tell  you.  I  forgot  to  say  that 
everything  is  settled  about  the  papers  for  my  Bache- 
lor's degree.  My  brother  sent  me  those  I  asked  him 
for,  and  no  difficulty  was  made  when  they  were  sent 
in  to  the  Sorbonne.  But  the  fact  of  my  having 
studied  in  the  university  district  of  Rennes  has  ne- 
cessitated a  special  permission  from  the  Ministry  of 
Education  for  me  to  pass  my  examination  in  Paris. 
Hence  arise  long  formalities,  which  are  tedious,  but 
nothing  more.  I  daily  expect  to  hear  I  am  called 
up  for  my  examination. 

Your  good  angel,  dear  sister,  has  been  my  guide 
again  in  this  affair  at  the  Ministry.  I  happened 
upon  a  very  excellent  worthy  man,  M.  Soulice,  who 
has  a  most  affectionate  recollection  of  you.  Mdlle. 
Ulliac  recommended  me  to  him,  and  he  has  rendered 
me  some  valuable  help.  Without  it  I  should  have 
been  terribly  hindered.  As  it  is,  the  delay  at  the 
longest  cannot  last  beyond  the  first  of  January.  My 
preparation  is  quite  complete,  and  has  not  cost  me 
any  very  great  labour. 

My  exact  address  is 

8  Rue  des  Deux  Eglises. 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  313 

This  is  what  the  Ecole  Normale  supplies.  There 
can  be  no  doubt  that  any  man  who  distinguishes  him- 
self there  may  go  on  steadily  and  peacefully  with 
his  work,  without  what  I  will  call  that  collar-gall  of 
everyday  anxieties  from  which  no  philosophy  can 
legitimately  free  us.  It  is  clear  enough  that  even 
if  I  become  the  most  learned  savant  of  the  day 
nobody  will  seek  me  out  and  obtain  advancement  for 
me,  unless  I  take  care  to  let  others  know  my  powers. 
Learning  is  written  on  no  man's  brow.  It  must  be 
constrained  to  reveal  itself,  and  that  revelation  is 
torture  unless  it  is  the  natural  consequence  of  the 
student's  external  position.  As  to  my  actual  work, 
dear  Henriette,  I  reserve  all  details  for  my  next  let- 
ter; this  one  has  reached  a  most  alarming  length 
already.  I  am  closely  attending  all  the  lectures  at 
the  Sorbonne  and  at  the  College  de  France  which 
are  like  to  assist  me  in  my  present  undertaking. 
The  Sorbonne  courses  are  more  interesting  and  spir- 
ited this  year  than  usual,  public  attention,  which  had 
been  temporarily  diverted  elsewhere,  having  been  re- 
called to  them  by  the  daily  press.  And  then,  as  an 
effect  of  the  interruptions  at  the  College  de  France 
(spontaneous  perhaps,  though  carefully  led  up  to  by 
M.  Michelet  and  M.  Quinet),  the  noisy,  stirring  pop- 
ular student  element,  which  attends  lectures  merely 
to  clap  its  hands  and  drum  with  its  feet  and  shout, 
has  been  driven  back  to  the  Sorbonne. 


3I4  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

The  Sorbonne  may  have  gained  in  numbers,  but 
it  has  not  improved  as  to  orderliness,  and  its  peace- 
ful walls  have  witnessed  scenes  unheard  of  in  its 
annals.  I  was  present  myself  during  M.  Lenormant's 
lectures  at  the  most  indescribably  disgraceful  sights, 
typical  of  this  nineteenth  century  of  ours.  This  pro- 
fessor, whom  I  know  to  be  a  man  of  remarkably  lib- 
eral views  (though  I  am  far  from  personally  adopting 
all  his  opinions),  was  interrupted,  all  through  his  lect- 
ures, by  coarse  invectives  and  frantic  noise,  nobody 
quite  knew  why.  It  was  evidently  a  plot  among  the 
ringleaders  to  drive  him  from  his  professorial  chair, 
and  force  the  authorities  to  reinstate  M.  Quinet  They 
kept  shouting  for  M.  Quinet  as  if  he  had  been  there  to 
answer  them.  If  you  ever  see  the  French  papers,  some 
echo  of  this  students'  quarrel  will  have  reached  you. 

Good  God !  dear  Henriette !  I  keep  drowsing  on 
with  this  long  tale  of  mine,  and  now  a  cruel  thought 
breaks  on  its  quiet  peace!  It  may  be,  even  as  I 
write,  that  you  are  lying  in  suffering  and  exhaustion ! 
too  ill  to  read  these  lines  perhaps!  Compare  the 
dates,  dear  sister.  This  is  the  i6th  of  December,  and 
in  your  last,  dated  28th  October,  you  seemed  to  hold 
out  hopes  of  my  hearing  very  soon  again.  I  wait  — 
ah !  in  what  agonies  of  impatience  do  I  wait !  The 
daily  post-hour  is  an  anxious  moment  to  me.  My 
mother  and  Alain  share  my  alarm. 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  315 

Our  dear  mother  is  well,  and  I  am  glad  to  notice 
she  has  had  opportunities  of  making  little  trips  to 
Lannion  and  Guingamp,  which  have  amused  her. 
She  still  believes  me  at  the  College  Stanislas,  and 
I  shall  not  be  able  to  make  any  acceptable  excuse 
for  having  left  it  until  I  have  taken  my  Bachelor's 
degree ;  so  pray  be  careful,  if  you  mention  me,  to 
keep  that  fact  in  view.  There  lies  the  incurable 
wound,  dear  sister,  and  I  cannot  think  of  it  without 
the  most  poignant  anguish.  It  needs  all  my  strength 
of  will  to  keep  me  from  dwelling  on  it.  Our  brother 
gives  me  the  kindliest  encouragement  and  support. 
He  has  made  his  own  inquiries  about  the  Ecole 
Normale,  and  strongly  urges  my  entrance.  I  have 
paid  him  over  the  1500  francs  from  Rothschild, 
which  I  have  no  earthly  need  of  now.  He  has 
opened  an  account  for  me  at  Mallet  Freres,  in  case 
of  any  sudden  need.  This  seems  to  me  the  better 
plan.  Our  funds  are  thus  in  safety,  and  bearing 
interest. 

Mdlle.  Ulliac  is  quite  well.  I  saw  her  a  few  days 
ago.  She  awaits  a  letter  from  you  before  writing 
again.  Mde.  Ulliac  is  in  a  very  poor  way.  They 
both  of  them  show  me  the  greatest  kindness  and 
affection.  My  weekly  dissipation  is  to  go  to  their 
mesmeric  stances;  the  chief  charm  of  which,  as  far  as 
I  am  concerned,  lies,  I  confess,  in  the  society  I  meet 


3i6  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

there.  Although  I  have  been  the  subject  of  some 
personal  experiments,  I  am  less  of  a  believer  than 
when  I  first  began.  If  to  this  exciting  recreation  you 
add  my  Sunday  evening  visit  to  the  reading-room  to 
look  over  the  week's  newspapers,  the  full  tale  of  my 
amusements  lies  before  you. 

Farewell,  you  best  of  friends,  on  whose  faithful 
heart  mine  leans  so  thankfully  in  its  hours  of  weak- 
ness !  O  Henriette,  how  I  need  your  presence ! 
I  beseech  you,  for  Heaven's  sake,  take  care  of  your 
health,  and  think  of  me,  whose  life  would  be  an 
utter  desert  if  I  lost  you.  OhJ  if  you  knew  the 
castles  I  build,  and  could  see  how  you  fill  them  all ! 
Farewell,  my  dear,  farewell ! 

ERNEST  RENAN. 

XXXII 

PARIS,  December  25,  1845. 

I  can  bear  it  no  longer,  dear  Henriette.  I  am 
writing  to  Mde.  Catry,  beseeching  her  to  tell  me  the 
real  truth.  I  must  rid  myself  of  this  agonising  doubt 
which  tortures  me  as  much  almost  as  the  most  crush- 
ing certainty.  Henriette,  dearest  Henriette !  what  is 
the  matter  ?  You  have  been  delayed  on  your  journey, 
I  tell  myself  —  you  have  stopped  somewhere  in 
Galicia.  But  surely  letters  are  delivered  in  every 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  31^ 

European  country.  I  go  wild  with  terror  when  I 
think  that  the  frightful  nightmares  my  fancy  some- 
times conjures  up  may  after  all  be  hideous  facts ! 
Our  mother,  too,  is  terribly  anxious.  Mdlle.  Ulliac 
knows  not  what  to  think.  I  count  the  days  till  I  can 
have  Mde.  Catry's  answer.  Good  God !  suppose  I 
have  to  wait  till  then !  If  I  even  knew  where  to  find 
you,  where  to  turn  to  get  direct  news  of  you  !  but  I 
am  utterly  in  the  dark.  Who  knows  whether  even 
Mde.  Catry  will  be  able  to  tell  me  anything !  Oh !  if 
only  some  good  news  puts  an  end  to  my  anxiety,  how 
heartily  I  will  swear  that  this  time  shall  be  the  last, 
and  these  terrible  separations  never  cause  us  torture 
more !  France !  France  !  dear  sister !  That  is  set- 
tled and  irrevocable !  I  should  feel  I  was  trifling 
with  the  life  of  my  beloved  sister  if  I  allowed  her 
to  risk  it  on  my  account  a  moment  longer.  I  have 
a  strange  and  unexpected  piece  of  news  to  give  you. 
It  would  be  a  great  delight  to  me  were  it  not  for 
the  miserable  anxiety  which  darkens  everything.  Oh ! 
how  joyfully  should  I  announce  it,  if  only  some 
good  report  of  you  would  arrive  to  set  my  mind  at 
rest  The  simple  fact  is  this:  — 

While  I  was  lecturing  on  Hebrew  at  St.  Sulpice  I 
drew  up  for  my  own  guidance  a  very  full  set  of  notes, 
which  form  a  pretty  complete  Hebrew  grammar,  on  a 
plan  which  is,  to  my  mind,  both  novel  and  original  — 


3i8  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

so  at  least  those  who  heard  my  lectures  thought  it. 
My  former  Hebrew  master,  who  is  still  my  very  good 
friend,  asked  to  see  these  notes,  and  thought  them  so 
good  that  he  has  strongly  pressed  me  to  publish  them. 
I  should  not,  I  confess,  have  thought  of  doing  so  yet, 
but  he  answered  my  objections  by  such  advantageous 
offers  that  I  was  really  forced  to  give  in,  at  all  events 
for  the  moment.  First  of  all,  he  undertakes  to  get 
his  publisher  (for  he  writes  himself)  to  accept  the  work 
as  his  o^vn,  leaving  me  all  the  proprietary  rights  in 
the  book.  Further,  and  this  is  the  chief  point,  he 
being  in  charge  of  the  Hebrew  studies  in  all  the  semi- 
naries connected  with  the  Society  of  St.  Sulpice, 
assures  me  he  will  have  the  work  adopted  as  the 
teaching  manual  in  all  those  establishments,  and  there 
is  really  no  work  at  present  in  existence  which  fully 
supplies  that  need.  You  will  understand  the  vital 
importance  of  this  last  clause.  I  confess  it  has  daz- 
zled me,  and  I  could  not  find  it  in  my  heart  to  refuse. 
And  indeed,  dear  sister,  I  have  so  many  ideas  on  the 
subject  which  seem  to  me  both  novel  and  correct,  I 
have  collected  so  much  material,  and  my  research  has 
resulted  in  so  much  interesting  matter,  that  I  have  no 
doubt  of  complete  success. 

All  the  students  who  attended  my  lectures  thought 
so  highly  of  them,  that  they  took  the  trouble  of  copy- 
ing out  these  same  notes  in  full,  in  spite  of  their  being 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  319 

so  voluminous.  I  have  enriched  my  repertory  since 
then  with  a  number  of  fresh  facts.  In  short,  I  shall 
throw  my  whole  soul  and  strength  into  the  work,  and 
I  feel  I  shall  win  success.  You  will  readily  conceive 
what  an  invaluable  start  in  life  this  would  give  me. 
A  book  is  the  best  kind  of  introduction  to  the  learned 
world.  Its  very  composition  necessitates  consulting  a 
number  of  wise  men,  who  are  never  more  flattered 
than  by  the  homage  their  knowledge  thus  receives. 
The  dedication,  again,  may  secure  one  friends  and 
protectors  in  high  places.  My  idea  would  be  to  dedi- 
cate my  book  to  M.  Quatremere.  I  have  quantities  of 
facts  and  work  on  this  and  kindred  subjects  for  which 
there  is  no  room  in  any  grammar,  large  as  my  concep- 
tion of  that  word  is ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  once  I 
can  put  this  information  into  literary  form  it  may  find 
a  place  in  the  columns  of  some  one  of  the  scientific 
publications  which  treat  specially  of  Asiatic  subjects. 
I  do  not  enumerate  all  the  advantages  this  would 
bring,  dear  sister.  You  will  see  them  for  yourself.  I 
must  tell  you,  by  the  way,  that  the  work  itself  is 
nearly  finished ;  and  were  it  not  that  I  desire  to  give 
my  publication  all  the  finish  I  am  capable  of  impart- 
ing to  it,  a  few  months  would  suffice  to  complete  it. 
But  as  I  desire  my  first  attempt  to  be  far  above  the 
average,  and  as  I  want  to  be  thoroughly  conscientious 
in  its  preparation,  I  shall  make  it  my  business  to 


320  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

undertake  a  fresh  series  of  researches,  which  will  very 
likely  delay  the  conclusion  of  the  book  for  eighteen  or 
twenty  months. 

My  present  situation  is  precarious  indeed,  but  it 
does  support  me,  or  will,  as  time  improves  it.  The 
real  difficulty  does  not  lie  so  much  in  the  present  as 
in  the  future,  and  the  first  question  I  have  asked  my- 
self has  been,  "What  will  this  lead  to?"  People 
who  like  to  feel  their  feet  at  every  step  they  take 
may  think  I  should  be  safer  if  I  joined  the  university 
at  once,  even  at  the  risk  of  vegetating  for  ever  so  long 
in  some  college.  But  I  do  not  care  to  circumscribe 
the  possible  area  of  my  life.  I  desire  to  leave  circum- 
stances and  events  to  play  that  important  part  which 
no  human  foresight  can  hope  to  affect  or  calculate. 
Let  us  allow  them  to  take  their  natural  course,  and 
let  us  fit  ourselves  to  snatch  every  opportunity  as  it 
arises.  The  execution  of  this  project  would  not  in- 
volve my  relinquishing  any  of  our  original  ones.  The 
Ecole  Normale  alone  would  have  to  be  sacrificed.  I 
do  not  regret  that  greatly.  I  have  made  those  in- 
quiries from  my  former  classmate  (now  a  student 
there)  which  I  mentioned  in  my  last  letter,  and  the 
result  has  not  proved  very  enticing.  As  to  my  de- 
grees, I  am  quite  determined  to  carry  out  that  plan. 
I  consider  my  Bachelor's  degree  as  good  as  taken. 
As  for  my  Master's  degree,  it  may  be  somewhat  de- 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  321 

layed,  but  I  still  hope  to  be  able  to  get  that  examina- 
tion over  in  the  course  of  the  next  (scholastic)  year. 
I  have  always  made  it  a  rule  of  work  to  have  one 
chief  subject  of  study,  and  to  add  to  that  several 
secondary  subjects  to  fill  up  the  intervals  which  must 
occur  in  my  chief  pursuit.  After  the  Master's  degree 
there  is  nothing  but  the  Doctor's,  which  is  mere  child's 
play,  on  purely  voluntary  subjects. 

Even  supposing  the  Oriental  languages  are  not  des- 
tined to  become  the  principal  occupation  of  my  life, 
you  will  readily  understand  what  inestimable  service 
the  fact  of  my  having  published  a  book  carrying  some 
weight  would  do  me  in  any  intellectual  career.  There 
are  numberless  positions,  the  competition  for  which  is 
decided  by  an  examination  of  the  works  published  by 
the  candidates.  Among  these  are  the  university  pro- 
fessorships, to  which  any  man  holding  a  Doctor's  de- 
gree may  aspire.  As  regards  the  investigations  I 
have  to  make,  my  present  position  affords  me  every 
necessary  facility. 

M.  Julien  has  obtained  leave  for  me  to  go  to  the 
Institute  Library  and  consult  the  precious  MSS.  it 
contains.  And  a  former  classmate  of  mine  at  St. 
Sulpice,  whose  brother  is  one  of  the  librarians  at  Ste. 
Genevieve,  has  got  me  permission  to  take  away  any 
books  I  need  in  his  name.  M.  Emmanuel  Latouche, 
whom  I  have  already  mentioned,  is  in  charge  of  the 


322  BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

Semitic  Language  Department  at  the  Royal  Library, 
and  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  be  very  useful  to  me. 
I  am  carefully  attending  the  lectures  my  new  plan 
renders  necessary  to  me,  amongst  others  the  Arabic 
course  given  in  connection  with  the  Royal  Library 
and  the  College  de  France,  and  I  have  already  come 
across  several  useful  and  pleasant  people  there.  The 
attendance  at  these  lectures  being  very  small,  gives 
special  opportunities  of  this  kind.  M.  Lelin  (of  St. 
Sulpice)  had  recommended  me  beforehand  to  the 
notice  of  M.  Caussin  de  Perceval,  the  Professor  of 
Arabic  at  the  College  de  France,  his  own  old  friend 
and  teacher.  Lastly,  M.  Julien  seemed  very  much 
pleased  when  I  mentioned  my  idea  to  him,  and  has 
promised  me  all  the  hints  I  need  as  to  the  Tartar 
languages.  I  constantly  see  him  at  the  Royal  Library, 
where  he  spends  a  great  many  hours  of  each  day. 
So,  dear  sister,  my  life  as  regards  study  is  on  an 
excellent  footing;  and  though  my  future  is  not  quite 
clear  yet,  some  cheering  light  is  to  be  seen.  Yes, 
cheering  it  would  be,  if  only  my  Henriette  would 
come  back  to  complete  my  happiness  !  The  activity 
of  the  intellectual  sphere  into  which  my  occupations 
lead  me  is  very  delightful  to  me.  But  when  I  think 
of  the  loved  one  I  may  never  see  again,  my  joy  all 
pales,  and  life  looks  sad  and  dreary.  I  shall  be  very 
happy  once  hope  comes  back  to  me. 


ERNEST  TO  HENRIETTE  323 

I  quite  forgot  to  say  that  if  I  carry  out  this  new 
plan  I  will  answer  splendidly  as  a  means  of  making 
things  agreeable  to  our  mother.  She  believes  I  am 
still  at  the  College  Stanislas ;  and  though  my  deceit, 
which  amounts  to  no  more  than  silence,  is  innocent 
enough,  it  lies  very  heavy  on  my  soul.  I  am  certain 
the  new  outlook  will  please  her,  all  the  more  because 
the  transition  from  my  past  life  seems  so  quiet  and 
simple.  And  it  will  soon  be  easy  to  convince  her 
that  my  studies  and  researches  made  a  more  in- 
dependent situation  indispensable.  She  took  great 
pride  in  the  work  I  had  already  done  in  this  line, 
and  I  am  sure  she  will  be  delighted. 

Dear  sister,  I  have  no  courage  to  talk  of  other 
things.  I  can  say  no  more,  only  repeat  the  entreaty 
of  my  last  letter.  If  you  are  ill,  in  God's  name  tell 
me  so  plainly  and  frankly.  And  then,  Henriette,  my 
beloved  !  nothing  shall  keep  me  back !  Not  for  your 
sake  alone,  for  mine  too,  I  beseech  you !  Oh,  if  my 
sister  should  never  really  know  me !  Farewell,  dearest 
and  best  of  friends !  One  word  from  you  will  change 
my  sadness  to  joy  and  hope.  Oh,  if  I  loved  you  less 
I  should  suffer  less  bitterly  !  Farewell,  dear  Henri- 
ette !  —  Your  friend, 

E.  R. 

THE  END 


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